Tournament Prize
by Janice Cox
Summary: It's time for the 743rd Aperanian Tournament. Time for jousting, wine, women, song, and...black magic?
1. Chapter One

**Tournament Prize**

** _ a Wizards and Warriors story_ **

By Janice Cox (jancox46@attbi.com)

_"Wizards and Warriors" created and (c) by Don Reo and Warner Brothers. No infringement of copyright is intended._

Chapter One

The soft, rhythmic jingling of the bells on the outside of their wagon was soothing, making it harder and harder for Tessa to keep her eyes open. Talmor, bless him, was patiently going over their lines with the young apprentice Gregory for what must have been the twentieth time that long, warm fall afternoon. They had been playing to crowds too harvest-happy to care if the boy said "h'aint" for "aren't" and "jump down from yer window" for "step lightly down from yon balcony" but Talmor _did_ care, and that was enough. Tessa smiled drowsily, remembering her own first days with the troupe so many years before. 

She had been only twelve, and so innocent of the ways of the world. Talmor would say that she still was, of course, but at the time even the sound of rough men's laughter had been enough to send her scurrying for the safety of their covered wagon. She had never known their were such people, so rough of hand and voice yet so generous with their appreciation for the simplest of entertainments. Back then Nana Anna had still been-but no. Tessa sat up and restlessly patted at her long plaits of pale blond hair. There was no point in thinking of the past, especially when her memories of her time before joining the troupe were so hazy anyway. What was past was done and only the business of the dead, as Talmor would say. Today was all that mattered, today and the Aperanian Tournament they traveled toward. 

The Tournament was held every year at the end of the harvest season. According to Talmor it had been held for years beyond memory, even during the time of the Great Wars. For three days men would lay down their enmities and come together from all over Aperans to celebrate the successful end to another harvest. Only the most skilled of musicians and performers were invited to perform. Many of these, Talmor said, would so please one or another of the lords or princes attending that they would receive a commission to entertain at the lord's residence for the entire winter. Imagine! To have a warm, soft bed each night, and no fear of starvation or highwaymen to keep one awake at night. It would be a dull life year round, no doubt, but one that Tessa would very much like to try at least once. She had asked Talmor why they had never before appeared at the Tournament, but for once the man's glib tongue seemed to fail him. 

"We've no need to come under the scrutiny of kings and princes, my girl," he had growled at her when she had first broached the subject. "We do well enough without that." 

"But Talmor, surely we have nothing to hide. And to perform before the King-well, Kings, I suppose-Talmor, what an honor! And think of the stories we would hear. You're always saying that we never have the latest happenings to relate. Why, with so many minstrels in one place, we could--" 

"Never mind! We don't need that kind of attention, girl. There's a few things you just haven't learned in your three and twenty years, Tessa, for all that you're spot-on with a song or play. Now, go on, back to your practice, and let an old man rest." He had rolled over on his side and feigned sleep and she knew she would get no further that day. Both she and Gregory had pestered at him off and on for the rest of the summer to no avail. It hadn't been until Martha began to take ill two weeks ago that Talmor had at last begun to relent. The woman's deep, wet cough had gone far beyond anything Tessa's herbal remedies alone could heal. She needed a prolonged rest in a warm, dry place if she was to recover. Just the kind of shelter one of the lords could provide, Tessa had reminded him. And Talmor himself was always saying that their small troupe was the match for any minstrel group anywhere on Aperans. At the very least they could find a position with some minor lordling that would keep them out of the worst of the winter's bitter winds, she reasoned. At last the old man had relented, his fear for his wife's health overcoming whatever foolish concerns he held so close to his vest. Tomorrow would see them there, and Tessa was nearly dancing with excitement. 

"Tessa!" Gregory's hand on her shoulder shook her from her reverie. "Come on. Talmor says Martha needs her tea, and it's nearly suppertime. And I'm starving!" He added plaintively. Tessa suppressed a grin as she belatedly began to gather the herbs she would need for Martha's medicinal tea. Gregory was fifteen, and a bottomless pit when it came to food. Martha was always complaining that she was forced to let the boy's clothes out every week, he was growing so. Now Martha was coughing again, poor thing, and her she had sat, lost in her own thoughts. Scooping up the last of the small cloth bags that held her precious supply of herbs, Tessa pushed the canvas aside and stepped carefully down to the ground. 

The air was still warm with the last of the days' sunlight, and she could hear Gregory quickly stacking the wood that would be their cooking fire. The trees around them were filled with the soft chirping of the birds who hadn't yet left for warmer southern climates. The only voices were the familiar tenor of old Talmor and Gregory's soft mutter as he recited his lines to himself while he worked. It was soothing, like the soft chime of the bells, and Tessa couldn't help but wonder what tomorrow evening would be like. They had never traveled with other musicians, never stayed in a large city for more than a single night. The peaceful quiet of the road was all she could remember, and for a brief moment a black chill ran down her spine. Perhaps there was a reason Talmor had kept them to themselves so much. Certainly he had done his best to keep word of the Tournament from them for as long as possible. What did he know that the rest of them didn't? For a moment the answer danced just out of reach, they way things sometimes did in her dreams. Then it was gone, and Gregory was calling to her again. 

"Tessa? Are ye' all right? The fire's just o'er here, ten paces to your left. I cleared away the brush. Do you want me ta--?" 

"No, I'm fine, Gregory, thank you. You'd better see to the horses before Talmor starts roaring, don't you think?" Gregory still thought her sightless eyes made her helpless, dear lad. Reaching back into the wagon Tessa deftly picked up her walking staff and headed unerringly for the sound of the crackling fire.

### 

"Well, now, what do we have hear?" The man's warm, easygoing voice allayed the last of Tessa's fears and she leaned forward with anticipation. They had so few visitors while traveling! They had heard the steady approach of men on horseback quite clearly in the still autumn air, and Gregory had quickly disappeared into the forest to see what kind of men approached. Thankfully, he had brought back word of a half-dozen men dressed in the uniforms of Camerand soldiers with a man in fine clothes leading them. This must be that man, Tessa thought. His voice was clear, confident, the voice of a leader. Or a musician, she thought with a smile. Only those accustomed to addressing large groups of people had voices with that wonderful timber to them. She heard saddle leather creak as he dismounted. 

"Just simple minstrels, my lord, taking their rest after a long day upon the road. Would you care to share our fire, and perhaps tell us of news of the war?" Talmor was on his best behavior, telling her that this was more than just an officer out of uniform. What did he see? 

"That would be right nice of you," the man said with a smile so broad she could hear it. "Me and the boys could use a breather, that's for sure. We've been riding hard all day, trying to get to Allhands. Don't want to miss the Tournament, do we boys? Me and my brother Erik are gonna kick some serious butt this year." There was a general murmur of agreement from the men, who then began to dismount and tend to their animals. 

"You arrive in good time, my lord. Allhands is but a days' ride, and the Tournament yet two days away. You and your men are welcome to camp here, if you find the company of simple minstrels agreeable." 

"Yeah, that would be great. And it's Justin. Justin Greystone." The two men shook hands, which surprised Tessa. The sharp clap of hands coming together could have been nothing else, but what lord shook hands with a mere musician? And this man spoke of competing in the Tournament, which meant that he was nobility of some sort. Tessa knew little of the comings and goings of the ruling caste, but the name Greystone _did_ seem familiar… 

"My lord!" Talmor's voice sounded impressed and alarmed at the same time. "I meant no offense, to suggest that you would wish to share-" 

"Now, now, let's just forget all that, all right? That ale smells mighty good, and Mikhail over there's got a tadmon dressed and ready for the fire. Why don't we just all relax and have a good time? I haven't seen a good minstrel show in, hell, must be days. Maybe after supper we could trade news of the front for a song or two, what do you say?" 

"Of course, my lord. Oh! My name is Talmor, and this is my good wife Martha." Talmor must be shook, indeed, to fumble introductions so, Tessa thought with a wry grin. Who was this man? The heir to all Camerand? "This young lad is Gregory, and the lovely lass over by the fire is Tessa. Tessa, rise and greet the man properly." 

Obediently Tessa rose to her feet and turned to face in the stranger's direction. "Well met, sir," she began courteously, "and welcome to our humble camp." In an instant the man was in front of her. A smooth, gentle hand, unlike that of a farmer or soldier, reverently lifted one of her hands. To her stunned amazement the lord bent over her grubby hand and kissed it lightly. She had to smother a giggle of unreality. 

"Very well met, indeed," the man said. "I had no idea such treasures were to be found in the middle of the wilderness." Tessa felt herself blush uncontrollably. "Maybe my brother's right, and I oughtta spend less time in the city." 

"Here is your ale, my lord. Shall I pour some for your men, as well?" Talmor sounded protective, dear man. As if this charming young lordling was any threat to a simple minstrel girl. After a beat the man released her hand and took a step back. 

"That sounds great." He drank half of the mug at a draught. "Yeah, I'm sure we'd all appreciate a little refreshment." He allowed Talmor to lead him around to the chair Talmor set before the fire, but Tessa felt his gaze linger on her for a long time. Talmor continued his polite attentiveness all evening, despite his worries over Martha and the upcoming Tournament, until Tessa was ready to scream with curiosity. Finally, unable to stand it any longer, she grabbed Gregory as he passed by with more of the freshly cooked tadmon. 

"Who is that man," she hissed, "And why does Talmor fawn over him so? He's met nobility before this, he's told us so." 

"Who--?" Gregory voice was strangled surprise. "Didn't you hear him? That's Justin Greystone." 

"So? Does he own half of Camerand?" she replied with asperity. "Talmor's behavior is disgraceful. Minstrels have more pride than that." 

"Actually, I think he does own half of Camerand," Gregory replied in a fair imitation of Talmor's dry wit. "That's Prince Justin Greystone. Of _the_ Greystones. Though I think it's his brother who's gonna inherit Camerand. All of it, I think." Picking up the plate of tadmon, Gregory hurried back to the waiting men. 

Tessa's stomach sank. That explained everything. Nobility must be respected, of course, but the fear of bardic reprisals kept the nobles from treating musicians with undeserved cruelty. That couldn't be said for royalty. The royals could-and often did-do whatever they pleased. How many times had they sung tales of ill-fated musicians, hung from walls or quartered at a crossroads for some imagined royal infraction? One must always entertain royalty when bid, of course, and an honor it was indeed, but they all knew better than to rub elbows with one for long. It was rarely good for one's health. 

And now one sat at their campfire. He seemed a friendly sort, for a royal, but they would all needs be on their guard. Tessa sighed inwardly, schooling her face to polite attentiveness. It was going to be a very long evening.

### 

"You're not still afraid of me, are you?" Prince Greystone asked teasingly, pulling his horse up alongside their wagon. He had offered to ride the rest of the way into Allhands with them, giving them the tacit protection of his troops for the remainder of their journey. Talmor had reluctantly agreed, but promptly pulled Martha and Tessa inside the wagon with him, leaving Gregory to drive the wagon alone. Gregory was uneasy up there by himself, Tessa knew, and, as soon as Talmor had dropped off into his midmorning nap, Martha curled up at his side, she had crawled out to join him on the rough wooden bench. Now the Prince had ridden up to join them. It wouldn't be polite to ignore him, she supposed. 

"I'm not afraid of you," she said calmly. "Just of what you can do. Simple folk tend to get trampled underfoot when royalty flexes its' muscles." She heard Gregory gasp beside her, but what of it? The man had asked her a question. 

"Aw, we're not really like that. Well, not all of us, anyway. Blackpool, now…" he trailed off. "Well, the Greystones aren't, anyway. Heck, some of my best friends are common folk. There's this pair of sisters, Margaret and Lucille, for instance. Never known a nicer pair of-a nicer couple of ladies," he finished hastily. "You don't have anything to fear from me. And Erik, well, he's just about the nicest guy I've ever met. Too nice, sometimes. Why, there was the time he and I were…" and he was off, telling a story so wildly improbable that it had her laughing almost against her will. 

"…and we finally made our way out, less about 10,000 kolnas and two kegs of royal ale. Took me a week to get the smell of tadmon droppings out of my shirt." They both burst out laughing and any remaining awkwardness was gone. 

"I don't believe more than every third word," she said when she could catch her breath. "You'd have made a very fine bard, Prince Justin." 

"Nah. Too much like work. And it's just Justin, okay? Calling me Prince makes me feel like I oughtta be doing something responsible." 

"Justin, then," she agreed. "Well, you're on your way to do something prince-like, aren't you? You said last night you were competing in the Tournament?" The competitions were the stuff of romantic ballads, and she was curious to see what someone who was directly involved thought of them. 

"Yeah, I'll be competing. We always do. Gotta keep up our reputations, you know. And it's a lot of fun. Little civilized dueling, nobody gets really hurt, then a great celebration afterwards. Folks'll be too hung over to even think about fighting for a least a week." 

She laughed. "It does sound like fun. Though I think there's more to it than that. There are jousts to satisfy honor, or to win one's knighthood, aren't there?" She shivered, remembering the Ballad of Stormhold. Two centuries ago a tournament had been held in the north that had ended in the tragic death of a prince and his vassal over the honor of the prince's sister. She had died of grief before the year was out and the land fell into a year of the darkest mourning. "It sounds like very serious stuff, indeed." 

"It can be," Justin replied with sudden seriousness. "Wars have started over things that happen at the Aperanian Tournament. Lot of people dying over some guy's injured pride, which is just the craziest damn thing I ever heard. Hell, I land on my pride," and he swatted at his backside, "least once a week, but you don't see me starting wars over it. But you can't dwell on the serious stuff or you'll get all old and wrinkled before your time. And that," he said lightly, "would be a tragedy for such a lovely lady." The moment of seriousness was there and gone like a summer shower and she smiled back at him. Prince Justin was harmless enough, it seemed. A flirt, undoubtedly. A layabout, almost certainly. But a good man underneath, one who would follow a comrade to the ninth circle of hell should it be called for. Complaining all the way, she thought ruefully. 

"Then we won't talk about the Tournament any more," she replied. "I'll see it soon enough, I expect. What shall we talk about instead?" 

"How about a song?" 

"I think I can manage that. What type of song? A song of manly conquests," she asked teasingly. 

"No, I get enough of those. How about something new? I've heard every tavern song I know enough times to sing the things backwards." 

"Something new?" She bit her lip in thought. Talmor had discovered an old saga several months back and adapted it to music, but… 

"What? Come on, give," he wheedled. 

"Well, there is a new saga. We've been rehearsing it for weeks. We were going to use it at all the harvest festivals we attended, but now, with the Tournament, I don't know if we'll get the chance. You should see the dress Martha made me out of some old curtains for the final act. _Very_ stylish." He was silent, waiting. "It's a very lovely saga. Talmor's outdone himself this time, I think. And it's based on a true story." 

"But…?" 

"But it's the story of Queen Evana. Talmor thought it might not be…politic…to perform that particular story in front of so many of the nobility." Queen Evana had once ruled all of central Aperans, and quite well, so it was said. But she hadn't been born to the role, and therein lay the difficulty. 

"Queen Evana, the commoner queen. Yeah, that might shake up a few crowns. Bet it would make a good story, though." 

"Oh, but it does!" She twisted on the hard wooden bench to face him, trying to convey her pleasure. "Evana was a common woman, true, but anything but common in her intelligence." 

"Or her beauty," Justin added with a mock leer. 

"Or her beauty. Something certainly caught King Highcraig's eye. He made her his mistress, and she became one of his most trusted advisors. She had been a serf's daughter, a nothing, and became advisor to a king." Tessa shook her head in amazement. "That would have been bad enough, and there were those who thought she had already risen dangerously far above her station And then the King became ill…" 

"And she became his bride. That must have shook up a few folks, all right," Justin replied. "What I've never understood was how he got it by the Council. I just can't believe that they stood by for that. She had no royal blood at all." Justin didn't sound outraged, merely curious. Then he laughed. "Sounds like we're talking about horse breeding, don't it?" 

"The Council has been most careful about keeping the royal bloodlines pure, or so I've been told," she agreed. "I'm sure that there's a good reason for it, but…" she trailed off doubtfully. 

"Yeah. I always thought that was just a good ol' boys club rule, but Traquill said that there was a reason for it." He scratched his head. "Can't remember what it is, though. Doesn't matter much to me, anyway. I'm not exactly the marrying kind. And Erik's set to marry Ariel, so that's taken care of. Long as nothing happens to Erik," he added glumly. "Anything happens to him, dad might try to make _me _marry Ariel." He sounded so despondent that she couldn't help but smile. 

"Oh, it couldn't be that bad, could it? Is she so very…plain?" No princess was ever ugly. Even if a few of them could frighten horses. 

"No! Ariel's very pretty. Not as pretty as you, maybe," 

"Mmm hmm." 

"But not hard to look at," he continued. "Ariel's just…not real bright. She means well enough, but… And if you've ever seen her dance, well…" he trailed off awkwardly. "King Baaldorf is a great guy, but I don't think I'd want to marry his daughter. Not that I'm in a hurry to marry at all," he added quickly. "I'm more the 'sow your wild oats' type of guy." 

"To the great sorrow of every single woman in Aperans, no doubt," she said with a laugh. 

"You ought to do it," he said suddenly. "Like you said, it's a true story. An she dies at the end, right? That ought to please the old die-hards. I'll bet you'd look just fine in that curtain dress." There was something gentle in his voice that made her nervous and pleased at the same time. "Now, why don't you sing me a song? Something from Queen Evana's story." 

"I suppose it couldn't h-" her throat tightened in sudden alarm, cutting off her voice in mid-word. Something dark and clammy had swept across her mind and nerves like a slime-coated sheet, making her feel weak and somehow soiled. It faded quickly, leaving behind a deep, nameless fear. She heard Justin start in surprise. 

"Riders!" There was no playfulness in his voice now. At the sharp command in his voice the men who had been riding lackadaisically behind them swept forward. From within the remains of her terror and revulsion Tessa was remotely aware that one had stopped on the other side of their wagon while the others ranged to the sides and ahead of them. Beside her Gregory's breath caught in his throat. 

"What kind of men--?" Gregory whispered. 

"Men dressed all in black," Talmor added, answering her unspoken question. "Perhaps a dozen of them." The older man had poked his head through the canvas behind them and now whistled softly. "And wearing insignia the likes of which I've never seen. Heavily armed, too. Blackpool's men, perhaps?" 

"No, them I know. I-" Justin broke off suddenly and she heard the scream of a horse, so like the shriek of a woman. Beside her Gregory muttered an oath as the wagon jerked suddenly. From the sound of it, both of their horses, normally the most staid and steady of beasts, had shied. As he struggled to control them Tessa heard the thundering sound of hoofbeats rapidly approaching them. 

"Talmor?" 

"They're going to pass us by, girl." Talmor's voice was its familiar, soothing self and Tessa felt her chest loosen slightly. "They're just men in cloaks and masks, that's all." One hand stroked her hair, soothing her as he had after many a childhood nightmare. "Nothing to be so afraid of." 

"The horses don't seem ta think so," Gregory muttered. "Easy now, you." The alarmed whinnies began to fade as the last of the mysterious riders passed by. 

"Shall we follow, sire?" one of the soldiers inquired. 

"Nah," came Justin's easy reply. "Whoever they are, looks like they're headed straight for Allhands. Maybe they heard about Tronin's new batch of ale, hey, Mickey?" The other man laughed in response. "The truce is in force for the Tournament. Even Blackpool's men know that. Still, wouldn't hurt to give 'em a heads-up in Allhands. You go on up ahead, cut across country to the north and you'll head them off. Maybe Tronin'll want to have a proper welcoming party ready for 'em." There was a tightness to the Prince's voice that told Tessa that he took the riders more seriously than he was letting on. Apparently the soldier heard it as well. 

"Aye, sir!" A sharp clap of leather and the man was gone to the sound of thundering hoofbeats. 

The danger--if there had ever been any--seemed to be gone. Even so, Tessa couldn't seem to stop shaking. Unable to explain her fear or the chill that clung to her despite the warm weather, she excused herself to the prince and slipped into the back of the wagon. The close, familiar surroundings did little to ease her frayed nerves. Shaking beneath a thick pile of blankets Tessa finally drifted off to sleep late that afternoon to the sound of Martha's gentle lullaby.

### 

"His Royal Highness, Prince Erik Greystone!" 

From long experience Erik Greystone did not step forward immediately after the liveried servant had announced him. Sure enough, moments later trumpets blared authoritatively, further emphasizing the importance of the announced guest. His ears ringing slightly, Erik now stepped forward, passing the now silent trumpeters and walking with as much dignity as he could muster toward the throne of King Edward Tronin the Third. 

King Tronin, like his father before him, had a great love of both ceremony and adoration and both were well represented in the throne room Erik now entered. As he walked across the large room Erik was uncomfortably aware of the eyes of more than two dozen people upon him. All of them were elaborately dressed, and lounged carefully in heavily appointed chairs and divans to either side of a throne which took up a full third of the wall. These were not the admiring looks of his own people, which he had ceased to notice before he could shave, but the measuring stares of people who wondered how he could be used to further their own political ambitions. His family ruled over one of the most prosperous kingdoms in all of Aperans and had ties of blood or marriage to every other ruling family in Camerand. His father, Richard, was a direct descendant of the High King, and had married a second cousin of the Blackpool family. Add to that Erik's announced betrothal to Ariel Baaldorf, only child of the influential King Edwin Baaldorf, and you had a guy in position to some day place all of Camerand under the control of the Greystone family. Under _his _control, to be precise. 

It was a lot of responsibility for a guy who'd just celebrated his twenty-sixth birthday. Stopping ten paces in front of the throne, Erik bowed gravely and tried to remember all of his father's advice. "Thank you for receiving me, your majesty." He heard a soft titter of female laughter and when he rose Erik saw that one of Tronin's daughters was blushing furiously. Two of her companions were looking at him like he was a stud horse and he nearly missed Tronin's reply in his embarrassment. _I thought that father's announcement of our betrothal would at least get me out of the marriage market._ It had been one of the few consolations Marko had been able to come up with after his father announced his intentions to marry his eldest son to Baaldorf's only daughter. He would have shot a dirty look at his vassal, but Marko had (wisely, it would appear) elected to make sure the knights were properly settled in their quarters while Erik made his formal greetings. Erik made a mental note to review that decision with him later. Over a tankard of ale, hopefully. 

"It is always a pleasure for us to receive you, Prince Greystone," King Tronin replied. He was a balding, pudgy man in his mid forties who looked as if he was wearing half of his kingdoms' jewels on his elaborate crown. "We have been looking forward with much anticipation to your arrival. We have so many things to discuss. This distressing war, for one." 

_You mean your contribution to it_, Erik thought with mild annoyance. Tronin had both men at arms and wealth in abundance yet balked at every kolna he was forced to spend in defense of Camerand. _You'd think with his lands as close to the northern front as they are he'd be falling all over himself to help. Ah, well. Some people just have really rotten priorities, I guess_. Sparing another glance around the opulent throne room Erik quickly mustered a suitable reply. "I'm sure that we do," he agreed. "My father and I have spoken about your concerns at great length. He should be arriving tomorrow, if the weather holds. I'm sure he is looking forward to discussing our mutual concerns." 

"Perhaps we could discuss them this evening over dinner, if you are not too fatigued by your journey?" A hint of eagerness flickered across Tronin's face. Most people, seeing his open, honest face, thought that he would be an easy mark compared to his father, Erik knew. 

"I would like nothing better, sire, but tradition dictates that the competitors dine together the night before competition. They say that it provides opportunities for dialogue during the truce that would otherwise go lacking. And with this 'distressing' war…" he trailed off meaningfully. 

"Of course, of course." Tronin hid his disappointment well. "Perhaps tomorrow night, then, when your father will be free to join us." 

"I look forward to it." _Almost as much as another night in the Caverns of Chaos_, Erik amended silently. "Now, I must beg your leave. There are still preparations my men and I need to make before the competition." Marko would have taken care of most of it by now, but there was no need to tell Tronin just how efficient his vassal was. Erik bowed his head politely in the direction of Queen Morita and then looked at Tronin expectantly. The king waved one pudgy, ring covered hand negligently toward the door. 

"Far be it from me to keep a young man from the Tournament. Go, Prince Greystone. We will speak again soon." At the words of dismissal a servant quietly refilled Tronin's wine glass and Erik bowed hastily before making his retreat, glad to have escaped unscathed.

### 

The air was fresh and clean after the stale, heavily perfumed air of Tronin's chambers, and Erik took a deep breath, a smile of pure pleasure on his face. The Tournament would be a welcome relief from the war. The war, started in his father's generation, seemed destined to go on forever. Bad enough for the kingdom's coffers, but worse for the men called to fight in it. And die in it. Erik shook his head. For three days he was free of all that. Well, more or less, he amended. There were still the northern barons to speak to, if the opportunity arose. Years after the Blackpools usurped their kingdoms, the kings-turned-barons still bore a powerful grudge. To date their loyalties to each other and the north had outweighed their anger at Blackpool, but as the war ground on and they lost more and more resources to it that loyalty might well wear thin. Some of the sons (and one of the daughters!) of these barons would be competing in the Tournament, and Erik was to speak with each of them in turn, assessing their mood and loyalty. And there was Tronin, waiting for the chance to whittle away at his contribution to the war effort. And King Baaldorf, concerned about northern encroachments to his grazing lands and the import tariffs that hurt his lacemakers, as well as the status of his daughter Ariel's wedding. And, of course, he was expected not only to compete in the Tournament, but to win for the honor and glory of all Camerand. While maintaining his princely dignity at all times, of course. 

"I need a drink," Erik muttered. _And a winsome bar lass, and… _

"And some of Michael's broiled kithpah," Marko said agreeably, falling into step with Erik. "I had a chance to taste it earlier, and has he outdone himself this time." Marko smiled his broad smile and Erik couldn't help but respond in kind. 

"Your brother came in from Dunfirm?" Marko's brother Michael ran one of the most popular taverns in central Aperans, and his love of good food and drink was at least the equal of Marko's. If Michael had brought food, it would be the best. "Boy, that sounds good right now. You don't suppose he brought some of that golden ale of his, do you?" 

"Two kegs," Marko confirmed. "I had him set one aside for us." He sighed happily. "And Margaret and Lucille came with him." 

"Have I mentioned how much I like your brother, Marko?" They both laughed. "Now, how are our knights?" 

"Settled in King Tronin's guest quarters and already flirting with the pretty girls. There's this one chambermaid, Erik, I swear, she has the most amazing…" 

"Did you hear that?" Erik held up one hand, his head tilted to one side. "Sounds like a rider approaching." 

"Well, the day before the Tournament, I guess that's not too surprising. Lots of people are arriving. Now, about this chambermaid-" 

"No, this is one rider. Maybe we'd better-" Erik broke off as a rider, bent low over his saddle, appeared around the bend in the road and rode straight for the open castle gates. Both he and his horse were coated with dust and sweat, but beneath it Erik could see familiar red, white, and gold. "That's one of ours. Come on!" Not waiting for Marko, Erik broke into a run. 

The horse and rider came to a sliding stop in the middle of the front courtyard. The horses' side rose and fell like great bellows as the rider slid from the saddle and bowed shakily before Erik. 

"Sire, I bring news of strange riders approaching. Prince Justin bid me ride ahead and bring word to you." Bobbing his head respectfully to Erik the man pulled off his riding helmet and ran one hand through his sweaty hair. 

"Riders? What kind of riders?" The last of Erik's jovial good mood vanished and he frowned in concern. 

"Twelve men, dressed all in black, wearing insignia that none of us recognized. All of them heavily armed with swords and crossbows. Their helmets," the man shook his head, "sire, I've never seen the like of them. They have horns, with slits for eyes and fierce designs etched in silver over the faceplate like a mask. They ride like the demons of hell are pursuing them, and they head in this direction. Prince Justin thought that King Tronin should be aware of their approach." 

"He thought right," Erik said grimly. "I'll inform the King. You tend to your horse and yourself. Well done, soldier." He clapped the exhausted man on the back and turned away thoughtfully, his vassal in his wake. "Marko, why don't you round up some of our men and send them up to reinforce the main gate while I go explain to King Tronin." Marko nodded. 

"Any idea who it could be?" 

"No clue. And that's what worries me. The only thing I can think of is raiders, and raiders aren't likely to honor the tournament truce." 

"Have to be crazy to attack here," Marko said. "There are enough soldiers and knights here for the Tournament to turn back an entire army." 

"Yeah. That worries me, too." Nodding briefly to Marko, Erik wheeled around and headed back toward the throne room. _So much for the broiled kithpah and Michael's ale_, he thought with regret._ I've got a feeling this is going to be a long day_.

### 

It was. The mysterious riders arrived within the hour and set up camp just outside the castle gates. The Tournament truce prohibited a challenge without extreme provocation, leaving them little choice but to double the guard and wait. The men in black just sat and waited, watching each group of arriving travelers closely but doing nothing to impede their passage. A sense of disquiet had fallen over the tournament grounds, and dinner was a subdued affair. The Blackpool contingent had yet to arrive, so there wasn't even that to break up the tense monotony. 

Justin's arrival had briefly broken the tension, but Erik's brother had been able to add little to their knowledge of the mysterious strangers. To no one's great surprise Justin had arrived with a troupe of traveling musicians, and spent far more time regaling Erik with tales of one musician's beauty than he did providing any useful information. Now Justin was gone, most likely to seek out the attention of the Winslow sisters. Erik sighed. Justin meant well, but… Sipping at the single mug of ale he'd allowed himself for the night, Erik stared out at the camped strangers. 

"Pretty creepy, aren't they?" 

The voice came from directly behind him. He'd heard no one approach, and Erik had whirled and half-drawn his sword before he belatedly identified the owner of that voice. It was Traquill the wizard. The old man was seated in a heavy wooden chair that seemed to have been carved from a single great oak. He was sipping from a glass of wine and smiling vaguely. Erik released his pent-up breath and bowed his head to the kindly wizard. 

"I really wish you wouldn't do that." 

"You're too tense, lad. It's not good for you. Ties up the digestion." The old man stared at him with eyes which belied his decrepit appearance. "You're worried about our unexpected guests, aren't you?" 

"Yeah." Erik looked back through the gate. The men in black had a small campfire burning, which was all that gave their position away. Even their horses were black. 

"That's half of why they dress that way. Gives them an edge in battle, having their opponents jumping like a spooked horse all over the place." He looked sternly at Erik, who felt a blush begin to crawl up his cheeks. The wizard never failed to make him feel like an untried boy of eight or nine. 

"I don't suppose you can tell us anything about them?" Erik asked. "Besides their effect on their opponents?" It was impossible to stay annoyed at Traquill, and Erik felt a grin spreading across his features. 

"Well, don't let those helmets fool you. They're human enough under those scary looking outfits." The wizard frowned thoughtfully and crossed his legs, revealing absurdly long, narrow brown shoes. "Still, there is something about them. Something magical, mark my words." He tapped the side of his nose. "I can smell it." 

"But you said they were human," Erik protested. 

"I know what I said! I'm not so senile as to forget what I just said!" The old man said indignantly. "Why, I ought to…what were we talking about, again?" 

"Magic," Erik reminded him patiently. "You said you could smell it." Sometimes, like now, he was fairly certain that the old wizard's apparent senility was just an act. Other times he wasn't so sure.

"That's it!" Traquill exclaimed. "And so I can. But it's not coming from any of the soldiers camped outside our doors. Humans can do magics, low ones, but this is something different. A device, I would guess. And very powerful one, from the feel of it. No human ever born could create something like that." 

"Vector," Erik sighed. "Or Bethel. But why-" he stopped short as he turned back to face the wizard. Traquill was shaking his head, a puzzled frown on his lined face. 

"Perhaps, perhaps. But there's something about the feel of it that isn't quite right. And then there's that insignia they're all wearing. That's not Blackpool's sign. Oh, I wouldn't put a little treachery past him or Vector, but…" Traquill sighed. "That symbol they're wearing looks familiar, somehow. And not because it belongs to that young whelp, Blackpool." He yawned hugely. "Well, I've helped you enough for one night. I'm off to bed." 

"But you haven't-" Erik was talking to empty air. Traquill had disappeared. Erik sighed. "A 'device.' You couldn't have been little more specific?" Taking a sip of ale he stared moodily out into the darkness and whoever--or whatever--was out there.

### 

The first day of the Seven Hundred and Forty Third Aperanian Tournament dawned bright and clear. Freshly-scrubbed squires ran here and there, carrying messages and helping their knights into finery reserved for just such rare occasions. Children ran through the gathering crowds, laughing and smearing their faces with hot pastries and sweets from the stalls set up around the perimeter of the Castle Tronin courtyard. Peasant men and woman wandered casually from stall to stall, nodding politely to the young noblemen and women who passed among them. The Tournament was Fair Day, Midwinter Festival and Harvest Celebration all rolled into one, and it seemed as if every subject and ruler in Aperans was trying to join in the festivities. 

None of this mattered to the stranger in black. He passed through the crowds like some malign serpent, paying no attention to the way some pulled away with small grimaces of distaste as he passed. Even these few sensitive folk could not have said was disturbed them about the stranger. He was handsome enough, with fine features and striking deep-red hair above piercing blue eyes. But handsome was common enough at Tournament time. The black clothing he wore was of the finest materials and fit his lean form perfectly, but many here wore clothing as fine or finer. The jewel that sparkled at the base of his throat as if lit with some internal flame was perhaps the cause, but again, many men and women in attendance wore finer jewelry. Whatever the cause, people stepped from the stranger's path almost without being aware they were doing so. He ignored this as well, intent his mission.

### 

Princess Ariel Baaldorf was _not_ having a good day. First her handmaiden Cassandra forgot to pack the lavender handkerchiefs that she _had_ to have if her new dress was to look right. What was she supposed to drop attractively for all those handsome knights to retrieve? Oh, sure, she was supposed to be betrothed to Erik Greystone. But daddy said they would be allowed to say yes or no themselves, even if he betrothal _ had_ already been announced. Erik was nice and all. Okay, nice and very cute, but there were other men in the sea, weren't there? Or on dry land, anyway. She didn't want anything to do with a guy who was all wet. So she needed nice handkerchiefs to drop, and Cassandra had gone and forgotten them. Then when she woke up this morning icky old King Tronin had sent her a bouquet of flowers. Some of the flowers were okay, and the sachet blooms would look very nice with the silver dress that she'd wear for dinner tonight, but the blue roses had made her sneeze. She had tossed the bouquet out the window an hour ago, but she was _still_ sneezing! Some people were just so inconsiderate. 

Finally, Erik had promised to come and escort her around the Tournament-thingie before he had to go fight, and now he said he couldn't do it! Something about some strangers that weren't invited or something. She hoped it wasn't Dirk Blackpool who hadn't been invited. He was rude, and okay they were at war with him, but he always wore those black leather pants and chains and things. She sighed. Erik never wore anything so interesting. Honestly, even the servants here dressed better than he did! But the important thing was that Erik wasn't coming, leaving her sitting upstairs in the dress she'd had made just for walking around today. She'd told Queen Morita all about it last night, and the king's wife had agreed it sounded like just the thing to be seen walking around in. She sighed again, then sneezed. 

"Bless you." Cassandra handed her a handkerchief--a plain boring white one--and Ariel blew her nose noisily before handing the cloth back to her servant. "I looked everywhere, your highness, but I couldn't find any lavender handkerchiefs. I don't think there are any in the whole kingdom." 

"Which is why mine would have been so perfect," Ariel complained. 

"I know," Cassandra replied. "I just don't understand it. I told them that all six bags were supposed to go. At least it was just the bag with your scarves and handkerchiefs. Can you imagine how awful it would have been if they'd forgotten one of your dress bags?" 

Ariel shuddered wordlessly. 

"I did find something you might like," Cassandra continued tentatively. "They're silver, not lavender, but the seamstress said that no one else here has anything like them." At that Ariel looked around at the small silver cloth in Cassandra's outstretched hand. "She said they're made of the finest silk from the eastern kingdoms, with the lace made of the same material. See how the cloth just becomes lace at the edges? It was unwoven there and then rewoven into the lace pattern. I've never seen anything like it, Princess." 

Ariel snatched it up and examined the cloth closely. "My! You're right, Cassandra. I can't see any seams at all. Of course, it would have been better if it was in lavender, but daddy says we all have to make sacrifices sometimes. How many of these does she have? And how long will it take to get them here?" 

"I don't know how many she has," Cassandra said. "I saw a stack of them. Maybe eight or so." Seeing the look on Ariel's face she hurried on. "But she's here at the Tournament. You can have at least half a dozen right away, and I'm sure she'd be happy to make more for you." 

"Yes, I'm sure she would. You say she's here right now?" Ariel's blue eyes crinkled with mischief. "I think we'd better go get them before someone else buys one." 

"Yes, of course, I'll go down right-we?" 

"We," Ariel confirmed. "Erik may be too busy with his darned old bad guys, but I want to see the Tournament stalls." 

"Your father gave very strict orders about your going out unprotected," Cassandra began. 

"Oh, pooh! Daddy always worries too much. And almost every knight in Aperans will be here today." Her eyes gleamed in anticipation. "How much trouble could I get into?"

### 

"How much trouble will I get into? Is that what you're asking, Erik?" The voice was silken amusement with a strong undercut of mockery, a familiar combination which never failed to set Erik's teeth on edge. 

"Yeah, Dirk, that is what I'm asking." They were standing in the courtyard in front of the castle, where Blackpool had just paid his respects to King Tronin. A crowd was beginning to gather as the two warring rulers confronted each other. Soldiers for either side shifted uneasily. "It's a funny thing, but everywhere you go, people die. I'd just like to know when it's going to start this time." 

"People die all the time. I'm a very busy man, Erik, but I can't lay claim to all of them. Just the ones who cross me." Dirk smiled, and Erik realized with a start that on some level the other man was enjoying this. 

"With a ruler like you, that probably includes half your own kingdom. Just remember, Dirk: we're here under truce. Breaking the truce here, in front of every ruling head on Aperans, would be a bad mistake." 

"Break the truce?" Dirk took a step back in mock surprise. "Why, Erik, the thought had never crossed my mind. My people and I are merely here to compete in the games and enjoys the fruits and labors of the common folk." Erik snorted. He knew full well Dirk's feelings about 'the common folk.' 

"Then I won't keep you from it, Dirk." He hesitated. Dirk was here, along with a dozen or so of his knights and a few hand-picked soldiers. Geoffrey, Dirk's younger brother, had been here, then wandered off somewhere as soon as they'd left Tronin's chambers. But where was Vector? "Did you lose someone, Dirk? Or did your pet wizard finally break his leash?" Dirk's face darkened, but his reply was as smooth as ever. 

"Not at all. Vector is merely…under the weather. I'll be sure to tell him of your concern when he arrives. Now, if you will excuse us? The first competition is in less than an hour, and I don't want to miss it." The competition would involve one of each of their knights fighting with long, weighted poles without the benefit of armor. Dirk made a mocking half-bow and wheeled around, gesturing for his men to follow him. _I can remember sitting beside you, watching our fathers' men joust for fun with staffs like those_, Erik thought with a sudden rush of sadness. _What happened to us? _

Erik sighed. It didn't really matter any more, did it? Something was up with Dirk's wizard, and _that_ might be important. Dirk still wore Vector's monocle, so he knew the wizard hadn't simply left...not that Vector would ever give up his hold over Karteia in any case. Did wizards really get sick? He didn't know. Dirk did look none too pleased about Vector's absence, which led some credence to the idea. Or could it have something to do with the men in black and their mysterious "device"? Still thinking, he turned and walked back into the crowd. 

### 

Princess Ariel Baaldorf was having a _very_ good afternoon. The seamstress had had two dozen of those wonderful handkerchiefs, and hadn't sold a single one at the Tournament. Something about the price, which was ridiculous. How could you put a price on fashion? Then she had found the most darling shoes and eaten just a smidgen of a wonderful berry tart. Now a jeweler was holding up a very pretty silver and diamonds necklace. Taking it from his hands she held it up in front of her and stared into his mirror critically. 

"Silver suits you." A deep male voice said from just over her shoulder. 

"It does, doesn't it? My mother always says gold suits me better because it matches my hair." She twirled a lock of golden-blond hair through her fingers. 

"Your mother is very observant. But silver catches the moonlight and will make your eyes shine in the darkness." He chuckled. "Not something a mother would tell her young and very beautiful daughter, I'd wager." 

"Thank you." Ariel beamed. Now this was more like it! She turned around, still holding the necklace to her chest with one hand and peremptorily holding out her other hand for him to take. "I'm Princess Ariel Baaldorf." 

"I knew the moment I laid eyes on you that you were of royal blood. No common woman could possess such stunning beauty." He bent low over her hand and kissed it reverently. 

Ariel blushed in delight. The stranger rose and met her eyes and her blush deepened. He was so handsome! Hardly anyone had true red hair anymore, not the kind that blazed like fire in the sun. And his eyes…blue eyes that seemed to be able to look straight through her. She sighed. "What did you say your name was?" 

"My name is Roland, milady." He looked around in apparent surprise. "Surely your guards must be nearby? I cannot believe your husband would leave you here among so many thieves and scoundrels without proper protection." 

"Oh, I'm not married. Not yet, I mean. Well, I mean, I might get married. Well, of course I'll marry, but I might be marrying…I'm babbling, aren't I?" She sighed again. He had the most wonderful eyes… 

"Then perhaps you will allow me to escort you. In times like these, even a princess may not be safe when left unprotected." He held out his arm and she took it without thinking twice. 

"That would be wonderful. I was supposed to have an escort, you see, but he had to go off and do…stuff." Let Erik chase down bad guys if he wanted to. Her day was turning out just fine without him, thank you very much. Roland smiled understandingly. 

"How thoughtless," he murmured, guiding her expertly through the crowds. "But very lucky for me, I would say. Perhaps you would like something cool to drink, Princess Ariel? There is a stall here with the finest white wine from Dunfirm, and a shady tree just outside the gates. How does that sound?" 

"Wonderful," Ariel agreed dazedly. "But I should tell-" 

"Cassandra? Your handmaiden takes your purchases back to your suite. Come, let your servant do her work. You and I will enjoy this very fine day as befits our status." 

Dimly, Ariel was aware that she really oughtn't be going off with a strange man, no matter how cute and charming he was. Her parents had let her go off on a picnic with Erik, true, but he was her betrothed. Sort of. And she still hadn't seen any of the stalls on the south side of the courtyard. But it was so hard to think about any of those things. So hard to think at all, really. All she wanted was a cool drink of wine, some shade, and more time to look up into those wonderful, wonderful blue eyes. 

Roland was back by her side before she realized that he had left. In one hand he had a basket that held a bottle of wine, two glasses, and a selection of delicate pastries. He held his other hand out to her. 

"Milady?" 

A small voice in the back of her mind wasn't just yelling but screaming, but Ariel paid it no mind. Instead, she smiled and took the stranger's outstretched hand, the necklace she had been holding slipping, unheeded, to the ground. 

### 

Tessa was exhausted. The sun on her face told her than it was no more than mid-afternoon, but it seemed as if she had been singing and playing for days. She surreptitiously rubbed her aching fingertips together in the folds of her skirt while Talmor regaled the crowd with one of his ridiculous fairytales. Most of the tales had an undercurrent that poked fun at the proud or foolish, especially of the ruling class. They'd been a little concerned that some of their more high-ranking patrons might take offense, but so far there had been nothing but praise for Talmor's stories. 

The story was well underway, and Tessa let her mind wander. The horrible sensations of the day before had fortunately not returned, though the nasty aftertaste of the rider's passing was with her still. Her long nap seemed to refresh her, for when she woke last night they were within the outer castle wall and she felt perfectly fine. Fine enough that today Talmor hadn't let her rest for a minute, but kept her with him and Gregory as they sang in first one location and then another throughout the Tournament grounds. The most enjoyable had been the hour they spent on a raised wooden stage, playing tunes for anyone who cared to dance. There they were joined by another troupe, and she had her first real experience with the complex harmonies and multiple variations that a large, experienced group could attain. It had been exhilarating, and she had been startled and saddened when it was announced that their turn was done. 

Still, a part of her was grateful that Talmor had found them this position within the outdoor alehouse that had been set up specially for the Tournament. There was shade here, and bales of hay to sit on and rest one's feet between sets. Gregory, not used to so much activity, was sound asleep in his seat beside her, snoring softly. Tessa took a small sip of wine and listened for a moment to see where Talmor was in his story. Not yet half way through, thank all the gods. 

"Well, hi there! Boy, I'm glad I finally found you. I've been looking for you all afternoon." She smiled and turned. 

"Hello, Justin." She regretted the informality as soon as it had left her lips. They were no longer on a deserted road but within the walls of a castle. Prince Justin was probably no different here than there, but she didn't have his luxury to forget those boundaries. Ah, well, there was no helping it now. "You've been looking for us?" she asked in surprise. Out of nowhere a laugh burbled out. "And I thought you said you could find my 'golden voice' anywhere." 

"Well, I mighta gotten distracted once or twice," he allowed. "I got walloped pretty good on the field today. Must've shook up my brains some." 

"Oh? I hope you weren't seriously hurt?" Without thinking she reached out and touched the throbbing place on his left temple. It was warm to the touch, and swollen, but not dangerously so, she thought with relief. Abruptly she realized what she was doing and pulled her hand away quickly, blush rushing into her cheeks once again. "I'm sorry, Prince Justin. I don't know what's come over me today. It must be the heat." It certainly _felt _warm in here, anyway. 

"Hey, now, don't apologize!" He deftly caught her hand in his. "A man _likes_ a little feminine concern, after a hard day on the field. But you don't have to worry on my account. It'd take a lot more than anything Geoffrey's got to do me permanent damage." He rapped lightly at his uninjured temple. "They don't call us Grey_stones_ for nothing." 

"Well, that _is_ a relief. If anything were to happen to you all of the single women in the kingdom would be forced into a year of mourning," Tessa replied. She made no attempt to pull her hand away, realizing with a start that no one in this noisy, cheerful, makeshift tavern knew or cared that a prince was flirting with a lowly minstrel girl. And it felt good to smile, to make light and meaningless conversation. Talmor had kept them to themselves for far too long. 

"So. Since we've established that you're not seriously injured, what brings you to us?" 

"Tomorrow night we're having this big banquet. All of the royal houses will be there. They do it every year. Gives everyone a chance to snipe at each other without anybody drawing blood." 

"Sounds like fun," Tessa said dryly. 

"You have no idea. Anyway, there's usually somebody playing music in the background while we eat. I was talking to King Tronin earlier. He's a nice enough guy, when you get to know him. Anyway, we got to talking over this wine he had, and I told him about you." 

"About _me_?" she squeaked. 

"Nothing bad. Just about how pretty you were, and what a nice voice you have. See, his wife picked out the entertainment for tomorrow night, and Queen Morita likes opera." He shuddered dramatically. "I hate opera. So does Edward Tronin. So, I just…" 

"You want us to sing tomorrow night. At the banquet." Tessa's head spun. If they performed well, they were certain to win a position for the upcoming winter. But if they did poorly… "Oh, Justin, you shouldn't have. We have nothing prepared, not nearly enough music suitable for royalty. We're tavern players!" Her voice rose at the end enough for people at several tables to turn and shush her. "We can't possibly do as you ask. Not before an audience such as that," she finished in a near whisper. 

"You can, and you're gonna. You're a lot more talented than you give yourself credit for. And I should know. You have any idea how many hours I've spent listening to tavern minstrels?" He squeezed her hand lightly. 

"I-I," Tessa's head swam. This was all like some strange, fantastic (and occasionally terrifying) dream. "Justin, we don't have the music for it." 

"Sure you do! You're gonna perform Queen Evana's Saga."

### 

"Cassandra! There you are! Marko says that you were looking for Ariel. Is she all right?" Erik came to a halt outside the room of Ariel's suite. Cassandra, an alarmed look on her face, shut the room to the room and promptly rested her back against it, effectively barring his passage. 

"Oh, she's fine, Prince Greystone. Really." From inside the room there was muffled laughter and then the sound of something crashing to the floor. Cassandra blinked nervously. "Princess Ariel is resting." 

"You know, it really doesn't sound like she's resting," Erik said. Now he could hear the faint sounds of singing. It was Ariel's voice, unmistakably. And she was singing…a tavern song? "I really think I ought to see her." 

"NO!" Cassandra spread her arms wide. " I mean, Princess Ariel needs her rest, your majesty." She bit her lip as something else crashed to the floor inside Ariel's room. "She's very tired, and needs to rest before dinner." 

"I don't think so." Erik reached out and grasped Cassandra by her upper arms, lifting her and setting her gently to one side. Taking a deep breath, Erik steeled himself for the worst and opened the door. 

Ariel was in there, all right, but she certainly didn't look very tired. His sometime-betrothed was wandering around her spacious suite, carefully examining each decoration in turn, while singing an off-color song about a two-headed horse that Erik would have sworn on his horse Southwind she had never even heard. 

"…and came upon the pass. The horse looked up, the horse looked down, and dumped him on his--oh, what an ugly vase!" Ariel stared owlishly at an ornate purple and green flower vase. "Honestly, how anyone could choose those as their family colors. Oops!" She smiled smugly as she dropped the offending vase to the floor. It shattered into a thousand pieces and Ariel giggled. "Much better. Now, where was I?" She took a breath, clearly intending to pick up where she'd left off, when he eyes lit on Erik, still standing in the doorway. "Erik!" She took a step toward him and tripped on her skirts. "Oh, boy." 

Erik stepped forward, catching Ariel in his arms before she could tumble to the floor. She went limp immediately and rolled her head around to blink up at him. "Hello." She giggled. "You swept me off my feet." 

"I kept you from landing on your--never mind." Erik walked across the room and deposited Ariel on the bed. No wonder Cassandra hadn't wanted him to see Ariel! The Baaldorf princess was clearly drunk out of her mind. "Ariel, what have you been doing?" He tried to sound stern and concerned, but he could barely restrain a laugh. Ariel was looking up at him earnestly, blinking as she tried to bring him into focus. 

"I haven't been doing anything! You were supposed to take me to the Tournament, remember?" She swatted at him with one hand, missing him by a country mile. "But, noooo. You had to go fight evil, or something. So Cassandra and I snuck out all by ourselves. We bought some fabric for a new dress, and some nice new shoes, and oh!" she managed to grab his hand, "some of the most purs-most perfect handkerchiefs in all of Aperans!" 

"Yeah, yeah, but, Ariel, what about the wine? I think you had a wee too much to drink, young lady." She pouted. 

"Well, it's hard work, shopping! And the day was getting warm. So I had a glass of wine with this very nice man--oh, he had the nicest blue eyes!--and we talked and talked about all kinds of things." 

This just kept getting worse. "You were out drinking with a man. Who was it, Ariel?" So help him, if it was that damned Geoffrey Blackpool, he'd-- 

"Oh, you're so cute when you're jealous! And you ought to be. He was very nice. And _he_ didn't have anything more important to do than keep me company." She sighed. "And he had the nicest black clothes. Sort of like what's his name, Blackpool, but without all the big leather-shoulder thingies." Her eyes grew vague. "And he had the prettiest jewel. When I looked at it it seemed to glow. It was like I fell right into it." She giggled again. "Isn't that silly? So then I got so very tired, and I came up here and took a nap. Then Cassandra woke me up, which I thought was very rude. I think I'll have to punish her. No strawberry torts for a month!" Idly she ran a strand of blond hair through her fingers. "Oh no! Cassandra! I've got a split end!" 

Erik stepped aside as the handmaiden came forward, murmuring soothing phrases. Cassandra sat down on the edge of the bed and began stroking her mistress' hair as Erik began pacing the room. At first it had sounded as if Ariel had simply managed to make a fool of herself, bad enough. But she'd said that it was a man in black. A stranger, not Geoffrey or Dirk, and someone with a jewel you could drown in. A jewel, he wondered, or a device? A _magical_ device? He'd better find Traquill and--

"You rang?" 

"How _do_ you do that?" he asked as he turned around. The elderly wizard was standing in one corner of the suite, leaning on a gnarled wooden staff and smiling bemusedly. 

"I'd be happy to tell you, if you've got a spare month or two. But I have a feeling something else is really on your mind today." 

"It's Ariel." 

"Hello!" Ariel waved from the bed. 

"She's, well, I think she's--" 

"Drunk out of her gourd," Traquill finished. "Some people just don't have the stomach for serious drinking. But that's not what's bothering you, is it?" His sharp gaze moved from Erik to Ariel's prostrate form. 

"She said she was talking to a strange man in black," Erik explained. "And that he was wearing a jewel that seemed to glow. The men who arrived last night--" 

"Just so," Traquill said thoughtfully. "Well, let's take a look at her, shall we?" He shuffled slowly across the room and sank carefully into the chair that Cassandra provided. The old man smiled vaguely at the handmaiden before picking up his monocle and holding it out toward the still-giggling princess. The monocle began to glow immediately, bathing Ariel in a soothing blue light. Ariel grew silent, staring in wonder at the wizard's tool. "Mmmm hmm. Just as I thought. Ariel, can you hear me?" 

"I can hear you." Her voice was calm but distant, not at all like her usual lively self. 

"Do you remember what happened to you this afternoon?" 

"Yes. I went shopping. I like shopping." 

"And while you were shopping, Ariel, you met someone. Do you remember that?" 

"Yes." She smiled vaguely. "He was very handsome. He bought me wine. And pastries." 

"Who was the man, Ariel?" The playful eccentricity was gone from the wizard's face and voice. He looked as serious as Erik had every seen him. A cold shiver wormed its way down Erik's spine. 

"His name was, was…I don't remember." Now Ariel looked distressed. "I'm not supposed to remember." The blue light grew brighter. 

"That's all right, Ariel. You can remember now. Nothing bad will happen to you. I promise." Ariel's hands twisted together nervously. 

"He scared me." Traquill patted her hands gently and they grew still once again. 

"I know. Who was the man, lass? You must tell us." 

"Roland. He said his name was Roland Deerborne." The words came out in a sudden rush. "He said he came from the western baronies, but I think he lied." 

"And what did Mister Deerborne want, Ariel?" 

"He asked me about my family. And about the Greystones." Erik took a step forward. 

"What did he want to know?" Erik's mind was already racing ahead, thinking of the men waiting patiently just outside the castle gates. Was this to be an assassination attempt? Security would have to be stepped up, and- 

"He wanted to know if we had any magicians," Ariel said sleepily. "I told him about Traquill, but he already knew about you," she informed the wizard. "He wanted to know about witches of royal blood. Isn't that silly? Witches can't be princesses." 

"What else did he say, Ariel?" Traquill's voice was deathly still. "Think very hard." 

"He said he'd seen her here, at the Tournament. That she was wearing a crown. But that her face was hidden from him. He said that he's traveled very far to find her." She yawned again. "That his master would reward him well for returning her to him. I'm very tired. Can I go to sleep now?" 

"In just a moment," Traquill said gently. "First, Ariel, tell me about the jewel. What did you see when you looked into it?" Her face contorted in fear. 

"No. I won't. It's scary." 

"Yes, you will," the wizard replied implacably. "You must, Ariel. Tell us what you saw when you looked into the gemstone." 

"It was very pretty. It had a light inside, like the tiniest bonfire you ever saw. After we had talked for a while he told me to look into it." She bit her lip. "I didn't like it. It was nasty in there. All dark and slimy. And there were…things…in there. Scary, awful things. It was like having worms in your head, crawling around and eating your thoughts. I cried," she said matter-of-factly. "Then I woke up in my rooms, and Cassandra was there. Then Erik came in. We're going to be married, you know." 

"I know. Now, Ariel, you're very sleepy. I want you to go to sleep. You'll have a nice nap, and when you wake up you'll feel much better. All right?" The wizard patted her shoulder. He looked to Erik as though he had aged ten years in the last few minutes. 

"All right," Ariel agreed sleepily. She closed her eyes, then wrinkled her nose in distaste. "He won't be in my dreams, will he?" 

"No, sweetheart. I promise. Sleep, now." Traquill brushed one hand over her face and the young girl sighed, slipping into a deep, restful sleep. 

"Traquill?" 

"Come on, lad." Traquill pushed himself up out of the chair with difficulty. "This is serious stuff. We'd better go see your father."

### 

In the end both his mother and father, along with Edwin and Lattinia Baaldorf and his brother Justin, joined Erik and Traquill in the small meeting room that King Tronin had somewhat grudgingly provided. The host king was well aware that something was amiss and resented being kept out of the discussion, but Traquill had been adamant. What he had to say, he said, was for their ears alone. Traquill had served them for so long and made so few demands upon them in return that Erik's father had agreed immediately. Now they all sat around the elaborately carved table that Tronin used for meetings with his councilors, toying with their wine glasses and waiting for the old wizard to speak. For a time it looked as if he had gone to sleep in his chair, but at last Traquill spoke. 

"What do any of you know about The Book?" 

They shifted uncomfortably in their chairs, glancing at one another and then looking quickly away. The doings of wizards were secret and mysterious, and wise mortals were content to keep it that way. It was said that to look upon a wizards' secrets was to be driven irrevocably insane. Still, some rumors remained. 

"It was kept in the Caverns of Chaos before the Great War, wasn't it," Erik began tentatively. "Some sort of powerful spell book, I think." 

"It was _the_ spell book, the source of all wizardly knowledge," Traquill corrected. "Many thousands of years ago four Keepers had possession of The Book, and took turns reading from it, using the power it offered for their own ends. Then one day The Book was severed into two pieces." He looked away into the distance and fell silent, a strange expression on his face. After a moment Richard Greystone cleared his throat. 

"It is the division of The Book has something to do with the monocles you all wear, isn't it?" 

"I didn't think you would remember that part about the monocle, Richard. I was a chatty fellow in your youth, wasn't I? The monocles are all that remain of the scrying glass through which we once read the complete Book. Without them we cannot read it, nor cast spells of high magic. Well, most of them, anyway." 

"Vector still casts spells," added Erik. "Remember the night of the old King Tronin's funeral? Vector summoned the demon Vulcar to kill us." 

"To kill Dirk," Justin corrected. "Nice guy. Glad he's not working for us." 

"You said it," Traquill replied. "Vector and Bethel have had a more powerful influence on Karteia than I think you realize. But to get back to it, without both The Book and our monocles, most high magics are impossible for even the most powerful wizard to cast." He sighed. "Or so I have always believed." 

"What are you saying, Traquill?" Edwin Baaldorf's voice was a low rumble. "Is there some other wizard out there? Is that what happened to my little girl?" Baaldorf, for all his advancing years, looked ready and willing to launch a full-scale campaign against anyone who would dare to harm his only child. 

"Yes and no." 

"That's not very damned helpful!" 

"But accurate. Cool your jets, Edwin. Young Ariel is going to be just fine. Won't even wake up with a hangover. What has me so worked up is that it was done at all." 

"What was done, Traquill?" Lattinia burst out. "Erik comes to us with some wild story of Ariel drinking, and some mysterious man with a magical necklace, and you sit here giving us history lessons! Please, tell us what happened!" Edwin took Lattinia's hand and she subsided, her gaze never leaving the elderly wizard. 

"Ariel was whammied, all right, but no lasting harm was done," Traquill said soothingly. "It wasn't even much of a spell. We call them come-alongs." 

"Come alongs? Sounds like something you'd say to a horse," Justin said. 

"Exactly!" Traquill beamed. "Nice to see you're not quite the fool you pretend to be, Justin." 

"Hey!" 

Traquill continued as if he hadn't heard. "A come-along is a spell of persuasion. It's low magic, meaning that even mortals can learn to do it if they find someone willing to teach them. People use them to get others to do things they might do anyway, sort of like leading a horse to water. This fellow used one to get Ariel to go away with him and to talk a little bit about herself and her family. Nothing more than that, and nothing that would go strongly against her normal behavior. There are spells to do that, of course, but they require a lot more power and effort than this fellow used." 

"That's all he did? Ask her about us?" Lattinia asked timidly. "He didn't-" 

"Oh, he gave her a glass or two of wine, probably good strong stuff, but that's all. Ariel will be as right as rain come morning," Traquill reassured her. They all relaxed just the slightest bit at that. It would have been child's play to interfere with the innocent young maiden on a more physical level, once the strange man had her alone. "The wine would have lowered her barriers even further, you see." 

"So this guy is just some low-level wizard?" Erik sounded surprised. 

"I didn't say that!" Traquill poked at Erik with his staff. "You're going to wear yourself out, leaping around to conclusions like that. What I said was that he used a garden-variety _spell_. I got a pretty good feel for this young man when I examined Ariel. He's been studying under someone very powerful. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was Vector's apprentice. As it is, this 'Roland Deerborne' will bear watching, mark my words." He sighed again, and looked uncomfortable. "But what worries me more is his master. That jewel at his throne was made by someone far more powerful than Deerborne, and I'd wager that whoever made it is this boy's master." 

"And you're sure it's not Vector? That might explain why he's not here himself." Erik said. 

"Positive. Each wizard leaves his own mark on the spells he casts and the things he enchants, and I'd recognize Vector's foul stench from a hundred paces. Bethel's, too. And since there are only three of us, that means we're dealing with a very powerful mortal." Again he paused. "I've never heard of a mortal being able to make a scrying device like this one, but I suppose anything's possible." He shook his head and seemed about to add something more. 

"Scrying device? Like your monocle?" Richard Greystone asked sharply. 

"Sort of. This one's more like the old 'crystal ball.' They can be used to see things at a distance, sometimes even to see the future." Traquill relaxed back into his chair. 

"So when Deerborne said that this woman had been 'seen' here at the Tournament…" Erik guessed. 

Traquill nodded. "He was referring to what that blue gemstone showed him. I can't be sure, but it's likely something that's keyed to a certain person. Or a certain set of specifications." 

"Like a royal witch," Justin said skeptically. "I thought you said that magic and royalty don't mix." 

"They don't! But that rule applies to true wizards and witches, not the more mortal variety. Believe me, if that rule had been violated, you'd know it. This fellow--or, more accurately, his master--must believe that someone here has studied magic. Someone of royal blood, presumably. And who owes this mysterious master a debt. 

"You're going to have trouble with this one, Richard, Edwin. He's a mortal wizard with enough power to do high magics--without the use of The Book--and one with armed men under his control and no apparent loyalties to either of your royal houses. If he _has_ taken a member of one of the royal families under his wing, we could be in a heap of trouble." They shared long looks around the table. If Traquill was right, none of the other royal families could be trusted. And they were all gathered here under one roof for the duration of the Tournament. 

"There's one more thing," Traquill said as he slowly rose from the table. "This "master magician" of yours? He's quite mad."

### 

"No, I'm not!" 

"Yes, you are!" 

"No!" 

"Yes, damn it!" 

"I am absolutely NOT singing Evana. End of discussion." Tessa crossed her arms defiantly across her chest. They were standing in Queen Morita's elaborate rose garden, and the humming of bees and the sweet chirping of birds in the trees were a pleasant counter melody to their raised voices. Tessa sighed in exasperation. She had already made her feelings on the subject quite clear, and yet here he was, that same infuriating smile in his voice. 

"I already spoke to Talmor. Just like you told me to," Justin needled. "He said you'd be happy to perform at the banquet." 

"He said that when you made it a command!" Tessa shot back. "But I have no intention of risking my neck--literally!--just to provide you with an evening's entertainment." 

"Nothing bad is gonna happen." Justin took a step forward. He sounded like he was trying to gentle a horse, Tessa thought with a sniff. "All you have ta say is that I asked you to perform it." 

"You may have charmed most of the kings--and all of the queens, I'll wager--in Camerand, but what about that Blackpool to the north? He crushes little people beneath his boots without a thought!" Tessa rubbed meaningfully at her throat. "And I like my head where it is, thank you." 

"You think I'm charming?" Suddenly he was standing right in front of her, his voice soft and teasing. Tessa felt herself begin to blush. 

"I've no doubt you think so," she began. "And certainly every bar maid I've met in this town does, as well. You might consider setting your sights a little higher in the future, _Prince_ Justin." 

"I'll keep that in mind. But you haven't answered my question." He bent his head down to whisper in her ear, his breath warm against her neck. "Do you think I'm charming?" 

"I'll admit you have a certain charm," she allowed. "And you tell a tale well. But you're also the most stubborn, egotistical, overbearing--" He stopped her words with a kiss. 

### 

Dinner was an excruciating affair. Despite living his entire life in the public eye Erik had never really grown comfortable with court politics, and tonight had been enough to challenge the patience of anyone. His family had been seated at the main table in what was intended to be a show of respect on the part of King Tronin. Of course, politics also required that the Blackpools, as rulers of all of Karteia, be shown the same respect. Someone--probably Queen Morita herself--had taken pains to ensure that they weren't seated next to or directly opposite each other, but being at the same table with Dirk was bad enough. You never knew when he was going to play the perfect gentleman and when he would turn and strike like a poisonous snake. Tonight he seemed determined to put on a show of politeness, which frayed Erik's nerves worse than any show of violence. _What are you up to, Dirk?_

That alone would have been enough to ruin his appetite. But, thanks to Traquill's warning, they were supposed to be watching their friends as well as their enemies. And how did you tell who was a magic user? A mortal witch wouldn't even have a monocle to set her apart. For the thousandth time that evening Erik looked around the room, an amiable smile on his face as he examined the faces of the many royal women here. If you counted cousins and other distant relations there had to be fifty or more women of royal blood here tonight. A military attack he could handle. Even with an assassin you knew what to look for, what to guard against. But magic was the province of wizards, and Traquill had vanished immediately after their meeting, leaving them to their own devices. Hopefully the wizard would be able to narrow down the possibilities, doing whatever it was that magicians did. In the mean time they'd just have to keep their eyes open and their fingers crossed. 

A discrete gong sounded and servants appeared, carrying in the dessert trays, and Erik allowed himself to relax a little. Dinner was almost over. Tronin's eldest son Morgan tapped a spoon lightly against his wine glass and the room gradually fell silent. When all eyes were on the main table King Tronin rose ponderously to his feet. 

"We would like to congratulate all of the winners of today's competition. Would that I were but five years younger, and could have joined you gentlemen on the field of honor today." To Erik's right there was a muffled snort, and from the corner of his eye he saw Justin quickly take a drink of wine. Erik faced resolutely forward. Justin's laughter could be contagious, and tonight his younger brother seemed in especially high spirits, making him all the more dangerous. "I won't bore you all with a long speech," Tronin continued. 

"He's saving that for tomorrow night," Justin muttered. 

"...as I realize that many of our young men will be competing in the early morning. But I would like to say a few words about the importance of the Aperanian Tournament and your participation in it. It all began during the time of the Great War..." A muffled groan from Justin and Erik was forced to take a quick drink of his own. By the time the king finally concluded his remarks and retired for the evening the entire hall was as twitchy as Justin. The rough laughter of the knights as they made their way out of the hall mingled with the soft titters of the women and the jovial conversations of the men as they wagered on the outcome of tomorrow, the final day of competition. 

"So, Erik, what did you think of today's events?" It was Morgan Tronin, King Tronin's eldest son and presumptive heir. Though only thirty, Morgan was already showing signs of following in his father's footsteps. His tunic lay over a belly as round as a pregnant woman's, his squinting eyes nearly buried in layers of fat. A large goblet of wine was held in one hand. Erik thought back quickly. He had been so distracted by the black-garbed riders and Ariel's adventure that he'd paid scarcely any attention to the reason for their being at Castle Tronin in the first place. 

"I thought we did fairly well," he hazarded. "With so many skilled fighters here, it's hard to pick out any performances as better than the rest." It sounded lame to his own ears, and Justin's arrival didn't make it any better. 

"Not even your own brother's?" He had a bottle of wine in one hand, and refilled all three mugs, a broad smile on his face. "Too bad you missed it, Erik. For a guy as light in the head as Geoffrey Blackpool is, the boy sure swings a good staff." He took a drink of wine, his eyes dancing. "Not good enough, though." Erik nodded his agreement, wishing that he'd seen the fight. Geoffrey was strong, but Justin had a natural gift with a staff that no lack of regular practice seemed to affect. It must have been a good contest. 

"I'm sorry I missed it." Marko was waving urgently to him from across the room. _Great. What else could go wrong?_ "Excuse me, Morgan." Handing his glass to a passing servant Erik moved quickly across the Great Hall to where Marko was standing, his normally placid face dark with worry. "Marko, what happened?" 

"It's Uncle Trae," the vassal replied. "Erik, I think something's wrong with him."

### 

"Tessa?" 

"Hmmm?" 

"Tessa!" A gentle poke in her side brought Tessa out of her reverie. "I said, the soup's boiling. If you don't want us eating mush tonight, you'd better move the pot." Martha's voice was a mixture of amusement and exasperation. 

"I'm sorry, Martha." Setting down her lute, still in its case, Tessa got up and walked over to their small campfire. Using the stick set aside specifically for that purpose she moved the iron caldron away from the center of the fire. A quick sniff told her it wasn't yet overcooked and she sighed in relief. Keeping her long skirts carefully away from the fire, she turned around and walked back the short distance to their wagon where Martha was waiting. "I must have been woolgathering. We have so much to do if we're to be ready for tomorrow night's performance. We've never finished Talmor's wizard robe, and Gregory's probably grown out of his trousers again." 

"Aye, that's so. But it's not what has you so mooney-eyed this evening, I'll wager." 

"What do you mean?" Tessa struggled to keep her face innocent. 

"'What do I mean," Martha repeated teasingly. "I saw how Prince Justin was looking at you on the road. And Talmor tells me he hasn't been able to keep his eyes off you this afternoon, either." 

"Talmor talks too much." 

"Of course he does!" Martha said with a laugh. "He's a minstrel. But that doesn't change anything, does it?" The older woman's voice softened. "And I've seen how you've looked since you returned tonight. You're quite taken with the prince. I thought we'd raised you better than that, Tess." There was no reproach in her voice, only sympathy. 

"You did," Tessa sighed. "And I'm not 'taken' with him, Martha. I like him. He's charming, and funny, and he tells a good tale. But he's also one of the most maddening men I've ever met," she added with heat. 'He's arrogant, and stubborn, and willful, and, and-" Tessa threw up her hands. 'And sometimes I'd love to wring his royal neck." Which was all true, but didn't change the fact that she'd been sitting here daydreaming for the better part of an hour, her lips tingling from that single kiss. Martha snorted in reply and then began to cough. Abashed, Tessa quickly poured another mug of Martha's herbal tea. 

"Here. Sip it slowly." Handing Martha the mug Tessa stood and moved to stand behind the older woman. Draping the heavy coil of Martha's braid over one shoulder she began to gently run her hands over the woman's shaking shoulders and heaving back. "Let the tea do its work," she said gently. The awareness that was as much a part of her as her pale hair and double jointed thumb told her that the herbs in the tea were even now helping Martha's remaining lung tissue take in more air. But Tessa also knew that the sickness would soon take away the little healthy tissue that remained. Unless they were able to stop that progression, and soon, Martha would die before next spring's planting. 

"Don't you worry about me," she continued lightly. "I'm a big girl now. I like Prince Justin, yes. But I know what he is, Martha: a skirt chaser of the first order. And a royal one, at that! He may be chasing me at the moment, but I have no illusions that I mean more to him than any of the others." She smiled. "Though you'd never know it from that glib tongue of his." _Or from the sweetness of his kiss_, her traitorous mind whispered. Martha's coughing fit had subsided and Tessa resumed her place at the other woman's side, patting her hand gently. "Believe me, I have no intention of playing a modern-day Queen Evana. Royal doings are much better left to those born to them than to simple minstrel girls, thank all the gods."

### 

"Cassandra and I were in the hallway, talking about tomorrow's competition, when I heard this really loud thud coming from down this way," Marko explained as they ran down the castle halls toward the wizard's suite. "I went to check on Uncle Traquill, just in case, but he didn't answer the door. That really got me worried, so tried the handle. It wasn't locked." 

That was unusual in itself. Traquill was always careful to prevent people from walking in on him when he was doing serious magic. 

"I went in, and I found him like this." Marko opened the door and stepped aside for Erik. Traquill's suite was well appointed, but most of the furniture had been pushed rudely to one side to make room for a heavy wooden table and chair that looked strangely familiar. Seated in the oversized chair was the still form of the wizard Traquill. He looked almost as if he were just asleep (although Erik wasn't entirely sure that wizards slept), slumped down with his head resting on the table. His flowing white hair covered most of his face, but Erik saw with a nasty start that the wizard's eyes were open and unseeing. He ran forward, then stopped uncertainly by the wizard's side. Traquill was breathing, but his aged body tremble trembled all over like an exhausted horse. 

"Traquill?" Tentatively, Erik put one hand on the old man's shoulder. There was no reply save for a single blink of his eyes. "Marko, I really don't like this." There was no sign of injury, and no sign of a fight in the room. But a magical fight might not have disturbed so much as a feather. 

"You and me both," Marko said with feeling. 

"We'd better lay him out on his bed," Erik decided. "Just looking at him laying here like this makes my neck hurt." 

"I'll do it." Now that the decision was made, Marko didn't hesitate. With the utmost care he lifted the frail old wizard and carried him easily over to the bed in the adjoining room. With a tenderness that belied his bulk Marko settled his "uncle" down on the wide, soft bed. Traquill's eyes were closed now and he made no sound of protest as he was settled into his new position. Neither of them knew if that was a good sign or not. 

"You'd better go tell my father," Erik said. "I'll stay here with Traquill." He slapped one fist against his thigh in frustration. "I feel so helpless! If only we knew how to help him." 

"Maybe your father will know," Marko offered. "I mean, he's known Traquill a lot longer than we have. Maybe this is normal for a wizard." The doubt in his voice made it clear that Marko didn't hold out much hope for that possibility. "I'll get back here as soon as I can." He had made it to the door before Erik's voice stopped him. 

"Marko? Keep an eye out for Dirk. Vector, too. If this is some sort of magical attack, I'll bet my eyeteeth Vector's behind it." Marko nodded. The evil wizard's continued absence had been on both of their minds. Without another word he turned and headed out the door, a look of grim determination on his normally genial face. 

Erik pulled a chair up next to the bed and sat down wearily. All of the anticipation he had brought to the Tournament was gone. Now all he wanted to do was to survive it.

### 

Traquill began to stir just as Erik's father, with Justin trailing behind him, entered the wizard's room. His eyes moved rapidly back and forth beneath his lowered eyelids, and Traquill muttered something in an unknown tongue. 

"Has he spoken at all?" 

Erik shook his head. "He just started to wake up, I think." He turned to look at his father, who had for so many years seemed to hold all of the answers. "Have you seen him like this before?" 

"Just once. It was when I was about your age, I think. Our war with the north had just begun. Vector had concocted some evil gas that was killing every living thing it came in contact with. Those not in direct contact with the gas developed terrible running sores and lost large patches of their hair." He shook his head. "For years after the land was poisoned. Calves were born with two heads, babes born without eyes. Traquill told me later it was the same sort of attack that created the Plains of Death during the Great War. I asked Traquill to find a way to put a stop to it. 

"He found where Vector was hiding the green glowing powder that he was using to make the gas. There was a terrible battle, but though I was in the room with Traquill I never saw a thing. Traquill said that just as he finally took control of the vile stuff away from Vector, Bethel attacked. He said that while she wasn't as strong as he, he was concentrating on his frontal assault against Vector and never saw her coming." 

"Nothing like a good sneak attack to take the wind out of you," Justin agreed. "So you think maybe that's what happened this time, too?" 

Richard sighed. "I certainly can't think of anything else. If it was Vector, then that would explain why he hasn't appeared at the Tournament. Knowing Vector and Blackpool, I'd say that they might have viewed the truce as the perfect time to launch a new magical assault." 

"And here's Dirk, acting as polite as I've ever seen him," Erik agreed. "They probably thought seeing him here would put us off our guard." He scratched his head. "But you know, Traquill wasn't looking for Vector. He said he was going to try to track down the guy who made that gemstone. You don't think-" 

"I can't imagine that a mortal magician could throw anything at Traquill that he couldn't handle," Richard Greystone said firmly. "Remember, Traquill is hundreds--perhaps thousands--of years old. I have a hard time believing that any human could best him in a magical duel." 

Erik almost spoke. Wizards were powerful, but not invulnerable. Dirk had managed to wrest control of Vector's monocle away from him, after all, and Vector was supposedly as old as Traquill himself. Still, that hadn't been any contest of skills but simple theft. And Erik would be the first to admit that he knew very little about the doings of wizards, far less than his father did. 

"Then we look for Blackpool," he replied. "I think I can squeeze the information we need out of Dirk." He smiled in anticipation. 

"Remember, we are still under truce," Richard warned. "Unless we can find positive proof that Blackpool and Vector have already broken it, we can't act against them. Tradition prohibits it." 

"Tradition gonna keep us from getting our butts handed to us, too?" Justin asked. "I saw we go grab Dirk and beat the hell out of him. Before whatever they're up to lands right in our laps." 

"No offensive moves," their father said firmly, ending any further discussion on the subject. "Just because we know that Blackpool has no honor doesn't mean that we will abandon ours. Of course," he grinned tautly, "once we have concrete proof of what they're up to, I think a little 'butt kicking' will definitely be in order. "Marko, I want you to stay here with your uncle. Until he recovers I don't want him left unprotected." Marko nodded obediently. The vassal would like to have stayed my his prince's side, but he could see the wisdom in leaving him to protect the kingdom's greatest asset. "Erik, Justin, I want Blackpool found. Tell our men to be on their guard, and to watch for Blackpool. He may try to leave the castle tonight, if he thinks we suspect him. Detain him politely, if you have to. I'm going to go talk to King Tronin and King Baaldorf. If something happens here, we won't be the only ones affected." He nodded toward the door. 

"Go. And remember to watch your backs."

### 

"Hear me, my master." Roland Deerborne lit the brazier of incense and waited patiently while the thick, noxious smoke began to form. He stood on the highest gable of the main castle, the chill night wind snatching at his deep red hair. Thick black clouds cruised across the sky above him, temporarily obscuring the stars which stared down at him. The smoke pouring forth ignored the wind, curling sluggishly around his boots and piling up in front of him like a smoke pedestal. 

"Hear me," he repeated. "I bring gifts of death, and of vitality." Setting the brazier down, the magician reached into the black bag tied at his waist and pulled out a small kitten. The white, fluffy creature, bits of straw from the barn where he had found it clinging to its fur, was still warm, and he relished its fading heat briefly before setting the still form down on the smoke pedestal. It lay still, apparently resting on the slowly roiling smoke beneath it. He waited the prescribed beat and then retrieved the second item from his bag. It was a strand of golden blond hair from the witless Princess Ariel. Bespelling that one had been simplicity itself. He allowed himself a small smile. If the rest of the Aperanian royalty were as brainless as the Baaldorf heir, they wouldn't even need the girl he sought in order to conquer them. The hair joined the kitten on the smoke pedestal. Smoke poured over it, quickly obscuring both items from view. 

"Speak." He heard the deep, echoing voice easily, though he knew that any observer--should there have been one--would have heard the barest of whispers. The smoke shifted, taking the vague form of a man. Roland held his gaze at the smoke-thing's chest, knowing that, even for him, to see the face buried in the smoke would be to risk madness. 

"I have arrived at the Tournament, master. The girl is indeed here, though as yet I have not seen her." 

"Sight is overrated. Ask anybody." The voice dropped to a mutter. "The things I see, with my mind's eye..." It tapered off, and after a moment Roland continued. 

"I have prepared the spell necessary to release the Hounds, but if their wizard senses it..." 

"Traquill has other things on his mind at the moment." The voice was sure and confident again, and Roland relaxed slightly. 

"Then I will cast the spell, with your permission." He bowed his head toward the form of smoke, careful to keep his eyes averted. "They have increased the number of guards on duty, almost certainly because of our soldier's presence. But these men all patrol the walls, their gaze turned outward. When the Hounds are released within their safest stronghold, they will have no defense. The girl will be ours before the night is over, and their ruling families decimated." 

"Perhaps." The voice had turned thoughtful. "I foresee...difficulties. Still, this just might work. Cast your spell, Roland, and may all the gods stand behind you." Thunder rumbled overhead, and a sharp gust of wind dispersed the smoke across the rooftop. Of the kitten and the hair there was no sign.

### 

Justin Greystone looked up at the sky as the first warning rumble of thunder cut through the night air. Dark clouds had been rolling in since nightfall, and it was beginning to look like a storm was brewing. Normally he liked storms just fine (well, the normal, not-likely-to-burn-you-to-death kind, anyway), but tonight he wasn't holed up in front of a fire, a bottle of wine and a pretty lady for company. Tonight duty called, and this time he hadn't managed to duck out the back way before it caught up with him. So, no warm fire, no bottle of wine. No pretty girl. He sighed. He'd hoped to spend the evening with the minstrel girl Tessa, not wandering around Tronin's courtyards under pitch-black skies, looking for a guy whose idea of fun was…the thought trailed off and Justin rubbed at the back of his neck. The hairs there stood at stiff attention, usually a sign that somebody's irate husband was about to make a surprise appearance, or that maybe he ought to just sit this hand out. He shot a quick glance around the courtyard. Nothing seemed out of place, but his hunches were rarely wrong. A cool breeze sent a chill down his spine, and his hand went reflexively to his sword hilt. _Blackpool. It's gotta be Blackpool_. 

He looked around the courtyard again. A hundred yards to his left he could make out the dim light of the merchant's campfires, and across the courtyard to his right lay the sounds of celebration. Michael's traveling tavern was there, and that was where he belonged, not out here acting like a human target for whatever Blackpool and Vector had cooked up this time. His section of the courtyard was deserted, with guards stationed at every building entrance, which left only…up? Doubtfully he looked up the side of the building in front of him. It was easily five floors high, but he thought he could make out something on the roof. Was it a torch? 

The soft sound of a boot scuffing on cobblestones brought his attention back to his surroundings, and Justin whirled, his sword coming up and out to block whatever attack his hunch had been trying to warn him about. Visions of the silent but very deadly Bug Bears Vector had summoned against them last spring filled his mind, and he readied himself for the first powerful blow from one of those massive paws. 

"Oh!" The soft, feminine gasp was anything but bear-like, and Justin halted his swing inches from the surprised face of Tessa. She took an uncertain step backward, one hand held out hesitantly in front of her, walking stick held easily in the other. "Justin? Is that you?" 

"Oh, it's me, all right. But what in the hell are you doing out here?" He sheathed his sword and caught her by the shoulders. "I could'a cut you into bear bait!" 

"I was just out walking. I felt-I couldn't sleep, and I thought a walk might do me good. And since when is taking a walk a crime punishable by, by, whacking?" Her shock gone, she jutted her chin upward defiantly. His own face relaxed into a grin. 

"Whacking?" 

"You know what I mean. And what has you so edgy, anyway? Some cuckolded husband looking for you tonight?" The playful challenge that he was coming to really like was back in her voice. 

"Not that I'm aware of," he drawled. "I'm out here doing some of that serious princely-duty stuff you minstrels love ta sing about." 

"In you, a noteworthy event," she replied crisply, a shy smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I hope I'm not interrupting?" 

"Nah." He took another glance upward. There was nothing there. It had probably just been the wind. He reached out with his off hand and gently took her arm. "I'm just out here putting on a good show. Anything serious comes up, Erik'll take care of it." 

"That sounds more like the Justin I know." The warm smile on her upturned face caught his breath in his throat. Gods, but she was lovely. 

"Not ta say I haven't seen my share of excitement," he continued quickly. "I was just remembering how, a few months ago Vector--he's Blackpool's wizard, you know--conjured up some of the meanest, nastiest Bug Bears you've ever seen, and sent 'em after me and my men. They were a man and a half high, with six thick arms and claws that could tear a man's face off with a single blow." 

Tessa shuddered. "They sound horrible." 

"Yeah, it got pretty hairy for a while." Tessa groaned at the pun and his grin broadened. Damn. A girl who was not only drop-dead beautiful, but who laughed at his jokes and actually had a brain in her head. The last put her a step above the average tavern wench and half a mile above the royal women his father was always pushing him toward. Maybe he ought to do something about getting her to stick around for the winter. "In fact, we bear-ly escaped." 

"Mercy!" Tessa groaned theatrically. "My fragile sensibilities can't take much more." She chuckled. "You're becoming unbearable, Justin." 

"Well, you're a fine one to talk." They'd been walking in the direction of the tavern, but suddenly the last thing he wanted was a bunch of people around. He cast around quickly and spotted the rose garden they'd walked through earlier that day. It was lit by torches and seemed uninhabited. He began guiding them in that direction. "And showing such a remarkable lack of concern for my welfare. I mean, those bears were_ tough_." 

"If you'd had anything important lopped off, I'm sure the barmaids would've told me so," she replied sweetly. "And I already know they didn't harm that handsome face." 

"Well now, that's more like it," he replied easily. They were walking down a narrow path between two rows of delicately bobbing roses, the tall shrubbery behind the roses muffling the sounds of carousing coming from the tavern nearby. "Guy always liked to know that his woman thinks he's good lookin'." 

"_His_ woman," she marveled. "Well, I've never heard it said that you lacked for self confidence, Justin." They had stopped, and now she reached up and ruffled his dark hair with her free hand. "Brains, perhaps, but not confidence." 

"Well, maybe I was jumpin' ahead a little bit," he allowed. He ran one finger lightly across her delicate cheekbone and down along the sweep of her jaw. "I do that when I want something bad enough." 

"You're one of those men who eat dessert first, aren't you?" They were standing very close now, her hand tracing the pattern woven into his dress tunic, a shy smile on her face. "Didn't your nanny teach you any better?" 

"Who do you think taught me 'bout that?" He lifted her chin and bent to kiss her. 

_PAIN!_ He had no more than brushed her lips with his when a sharp, agonizing pain buried itself in the base of his spine and ripped upward along his backbone to explode in his skull like a cannon. The world spun crazily around him and darkness began to cloud his vision. Through it he could dimly hear Tessa's cry and then the low, guttural snarl as something launched itself at him a second time. Belatedly, his hunch warned him that something was very wrong. _Yeah, no kidding_. He pushed the girl aside with one hand as his other reached for his sword, but it was too late. The thing was on him, knocking him to the ground as it buried razor-sharp teeth into his shoulder. The pain was incredible, and his vision began to fill with inky black flowers as the creature worked to tear his shoulder from his body.

### 

Thunder rumbled across the sky and Erik looked up apprehensively. Sure enough, thick black clouds had gathered overhead, obscuring the stars and moon. The air smelled of moisture and the acrid crackle of lightning, and he cursed inwardly. The darkness was going to make it that much harder to find Dirk and Vector, wherever they were. 

"Sire?" The Captain of the Guard saluted, his helmet held in one beefy arm. 

"Any news, Captain?" 

"My men have completed a sweep of the outer walls, Prince Greystone. They found no sign of covert entry, and report that the riders in black are still encamped to the north of the main gates. King Tronin has ordered the gates locked for the night, and I have instructed our men to join Tronin's on the patrols within the castle." His mouth tightened as if he would say something more. Erik had a pretty good idea what it was. 

"Yeah, I don't think King Tronin's men will object to a little help." Courtesy forbade either man from speaking his mind about the quality of their hosts' soldiers. "They…they sure look good, don't they?" 

"I have never seen finer uniforms," the Captain agreed gravely. "And with our men to aid them, I feel confident about our safety within these walls, Prince Greystone." 

"Great. Now we only have to worry about the people already here." 

"Sire?" 

"Remind your men to watch for Blackpool's soldiers. I want to know if they start to gather for so much as an Armdeath match." The older man nodded. 

"I will. And I've sent Track and Miller inside to mingle among the revelers. King Greystone was good enough to provide them with suitable clothing. Both of them come from good families. I doubt anyone will be aware that they're soldiers." 

"Great!" Erik clapped the man on the shoulder. "I think I'll take a walk around myself. Do you know which way my brother went?" 

"I believe Prince Justin went to inspect the inner walls." The Captain nodded toward the south, in the direction of Michael's traveling tavern, his face carefully neutral. Erik sighed. 

"Now, why doesn't that surprise me? All right, I'll head around to the north, check out some of the guest quarters. If you hear anything, anything at all, send someone out to me." The Captain of the Guard saluted and then quickly stepped aside as Erik strode purposefully down the steps and into the nearly deserted courtyard.

### 

"So you've decided to join us after all. How thoughtful." Dirk Blackpool didn't bother to turn as Vector walked quietly into the room behind him. The room had in earlier times been the king's strategy room, and still afforded the narrow windows and heavy, reinforced doors that any sensible king still used in every room in his castle. The current king had added tasteless fripperies and turned the room into some sort of parlor, but the mirrors at least had their usefulness. In one he could see the wizard hesitate in the doorway, the lines of his frown cutting deeply into his pasty face. The hate and resentment were there as well, unhidden while his master's back was turned. _As if I had any doubts about what you think of me. And as if it made the slightest difference_. 

"The journey would have been much easier, had I the monocle." Vector walked slowly into the room and sat down in the elaborate stone chair at the head of the table. It was a minor show of disrespect, but Dirk had more important things on his mind at the moment. He stored it away for later and turned away from the window to face his wizard. 

"Had you the monocle, you wouldn't have made the trip at all. And I require your services, Vector." 

"Why do you waste your time here? There are a hundred other places we could be that would be more advantageous than this…_game._" He spat the last word as if it were an epithet. Vector had never had any patience with games, or any other amusement for that matter, unless there was something of consequence to be won. "We have work to do, Prince Blackpool." There was a note of warning in his voice that Dirk didn't like. Perhaps it was time for a little lesson in manners after all. 

"We? Vector, you seem to be under the impression that we are partners in the ruling of the north. Have you married my sister while I was away? Oh, wait, I forgot. I don't have a sister. I alone rule Karteia. You are my servant, by the Council's very orders. _You serve me, Vector_." The words cracked like a whip. "Not the other way around. If you hope to survive long enough to regain your monocle, you would do well to remember that." He fingered the monocle meaningfully, enjoying the feel of the magic as it tingled across his skin. Vector's eyes followed each movement of the monocle hungrily. 

Suddenly the wizard's face contracted in a snarl. "Yes, you have my monocle. _You_ keep me from reading The Book. _You_ keep me from casting spells of high magic. _You_ keep me chained to you like a dog!" 

"Like a rabid dog," Dirk added mildly. This show of emotion was unlike Vector. Perhaps he really was ill. 

"Well, hear me now, _my prince_," Vector snarled sarcastically. "Your childish insistence in holding power over me may be the downfall of all Aperans." 

"Oh, Vector. What an inflated sense of your own power you have," Dirk marveled. "All of Aperans?" His hand tightened over the monocle. Had the old wizard finally gone mad? Dirk seemed to remember that one of their kind had, many centuries ago. 

"Will you listen to me? When I told you back at the castle that I was merely weary from the seeker spell I had attempted to cast, I lied." 

"Oh, Vector," Dirk murmured. "How could you?" The wizard ignored his dig. "I told you that I had sensed another power at work. Something dark. Perhaps someone who could be useful to us. This much was true. But when I attempted to find that being with the use of a seeker spell, I discovered someone more powerful than I had expected. Far more powerful." The wizard paused, seemingly lost in thought. After a moment he shook himself and continued. "He repelled my spell. Easily. And the backlash left me…weak. Weaker than I would have liked for you or Bethel to realize." 

"You're certainly being forthcoming enough about it now," Dirk said dryly. "And I must say I'm very interested in any magician who can best you so easily. He could prove to be…very useful, indeed," he continued thoughtfully. 

"The only reason he was able to turn aside my spell is because you keep me too weak to do proper magics!" Vector snarled. 

"And, of course, allying yourself with another powerful sorcerer might well allow you to retrieve your precious monocle," Dirk continued as if he hadn't heard. 

"The thought had occurred," Vector said grudgingly. "Which is the real reason I wished to stay behind." 

"And now?" Dirk asked innocently. Obviously things hadn't gone as his wizard had hoped. 

Vector stood up and began to pace restlessly. "This man, this…wizard…is of no use to us." 

"He practices the black arts, does he not? Surely you could find some enticement that would interest him." 

Vector shook his head. "Nothing. And believe me, I tried. But his mind…his mind is warped." 

Dirk chuckled. 

"Not like that! I mean he is disturbed. Mad. The things I saw in his mind when we first made contact, the things he showed me when I contacted him the second time…he is quite insane." 

"If he is mad, then at least he can be little threat to us," Dirk said. "I think you overreact, Vector." The wizard frowned into a mirror and adjusted his hat minutely. 

"Trust me. I don't. How can I make you understand how malignant this man is?" Vector turned to face Dirk squarely. "He hates life. Not just those idiots to the south, or all peasants, or spiders," he added with a dig of his own, "but _everything_. All life. Yours, mine, the life of everyone and everything in Aperans. He wants it all destroyed, Dirk. Thank all the gods he's only one man. If he had armies behind him, he could very well succeed. _He's that powerful_. Now do you understand, my prince?" 

The wizard stared impatiently at his prince, but Dirk had turned to stare out the window into the darkness. After several long seconds he at last replied. 

"Then we have a very serious problem, Vector."

### 

Erik sighed heavily and pushed his thick blond hair back and out of his face again. The wind had picked up, reminding him that he badly needed a haircut. He stepped aside and nodded politely as a couple, oblivious to everyone around them, sauntered by arm in arm. This far from Michael's tavern they and a half dozen couples like them were the only signs of movement he'd seen since he'd started his patrol. Dirk hadn't been seen among the guests in the banquet hall, nor was he in his suites or in the half-dozen rooms that had seemed likely places for plotting. It was now nearly midnight, and he rubbed tiredly at his eyes. If Dirk was up to something, he was being a heck of a lot more subtle about it than he usually was. 

_If _Dirk was up to something. Again doubt assailed him. His father had been so certain only Vector could have been behind Traquill's assault. But what had the old wizard said? That whoever made the magical device Deerborne had used on Ariel was powerful. Wizard powerful. And Vector had never appeared at the Tournament, when he rarely left Dirk's side. He was ill, Dirk had said. Ill, or injured? A sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Erik wheeled around and headed for the main hall. They would have to roust the strangers camped outside, truce be damned. If they could find this Deerborne, then maybe they'd get some answers to go with the questions that kept piling up. Taking the stone steps three at a time, he was halfway up when a familiar profile finally registered in his madly racing brain. He came to an awkward stop then turned and took a half dozen steps back down the stairs. From there he could see the shadowy figure of a man in black staring moodily out into the darkness from up on the second floor. 

Blackpool.

### 

Dirk was still staring out the window when Erik entered moments later. The room wasn't one he would have expected Dirk to choose--it looked like the parlor of someone's maiden aunt--but maybe that was the point, Erik thought. His enemy didn't acknowledge his entry, though Erik noticed that one hand rested casually on the hilt of his sheathed sword. Vector was nowhere to be seen. 

Now that he'd found the man he'd been looking for, Erik wasn't sure what to do next. If his father was right, and Dirk really was up to no good--again--he wasn't likely to admit it. Unless, of course, Erik was able to play off of that massive ego with a little judicious baiting. 

Marshalling his thoughts, Erik poured a glass of wine from the pitcher on the table and walked to the series of narrow windows that faced out into the courtyard. Careful to stay on Dirk's off side, he looked out the curiously narrow window and took a sip of his wine. Lightning flashed in the distance. 

"There's a storm brewing," Dirk said quietly. 

"Looks that way," Erik agreed. Lightning flashed again, closer this time. In the brief light Erik could see Dirk's expression. The man looked thoughtful. Not angry. Not vindictive. Not even smug, an expression that was as natural to Blackpool as breathing. Just…thoughtful. It reminded Erik of the old King Tronin's funeral, and the Rains of Death that had immediately followed. Trapped inside Baaldorf Castle, surrounded by demons, Dirk had briefly worn that same introspective look. He and Baaldorf had talked for a long time that night. It was the most unguarded Erik could ever remember seeing his mortal enemy. Erik abandoned his idea of baiting Dirk into a rage. He might learn a great deal more, tonight, by just listening. 

"Funny thing about storms. You can't control them. Not with threats, not with bribes, not even sheer force. And the worst of them lay waste to everything in their path." 

"Yeah, they're funny that way." Erik risked a sideways glance. Blackpool seemed to be weighing something in his mind. "Hate to be caught out there tonight." From the looks of things they were in for a pretty wild thunderstorm tonight, but Erik wasn't entirely sure that was what they were talking about. 

"Neither would I." Dirk grinned thinly. "Something we can agree upon at last." 

"Well, don't let it get out, huh? Be bad for morale." 

"I'll keep that in mind. You know, I'll confess that you've managed to surprise me tonight, Erik." 

"How's that?" Erik asked guardedly. This was starting to sound like the Dirk he knew. 

"Common courtesy demands that all those attending the Tournament be offered shelter. Yet outside these walls are a dozen men, _strangers_," he added pointedly, "who have not been offered lodging on this stormy night. Why do you suppose that is?" 

"'Common courtesy' says that they're supposed to present themselves to the king before hospitality is offered. Even you know that, Dirk." Force of habit made Erik add that last sentence, but Blackpool ignored the barb completely. 

"So you don't know who they are? And yet, there they sit. Just outside the gates. Waiting. I wonder what they're waiting for?" Erik felt his temper beginning to fray. Dirk knew more than he was telling. That was nothing new, but Erik had the feeling that this time he wanted to share it. _Probably doesn't remember how_, he thought impatiently. _Come on, Dirk, spill it!_ When he didn't reply Blackpool turned to face him. 

"I couldn't help but notice the extra guards along the walls this evening, Erik. I do hope they're not there for my benefit?" 

"I think you know the answer to that." Two could play at this game. But part of him twitched at the delay. Dirk clearly knew something. But was it what they needed to know? "How's Vector, by the way? Has he recovered from his…illness?" 

Dirk looked at him speculatively. "He appears to have weathered that particular storm. Though I have a feeling that the storm season has only just begun." Blackpool seemed to reach a decision. "Erik, I think we need to-" 

A scream, high pitched and full of agony, cut through the air like a knife. Acting as one, both of them wheeled to face the door, hands gripping their weapons. A second later Morgan Tronin staggered into view. His normally florid skin had gone a pasty gray and he clutched at his ample stomach with both hands. Something that looked like port wine coated his silk tunic and was spattering steadily onto the carpet runner at his feet. 

"It's--" he coughed wetly, "it's coming after me. Please, help--" He held one red-stained hand out to them in supplication, and a second later Morgan Tronin was gone. Erik had a brief impression of something huge and dog-like, and then the screams began anew only to stop with terrible suddenness. Sword in hand, he raced to the doorway. Tronin was sprawled on the carpet a dozen paces from the doorway. Rivulets of blood ran down both walls, with more pooling on the carpet beneath him. Men and women were backing away slowly from the still-twitching body, their eyes locked in horrified fascination on the creature that feasted on the dead prince. 

It looked like an enormous wolf, one easily four and a half feet high at the shoulders. Long claws tipped each massive paw, digging into stone and flesh with equal ease. Instead of fur the beast had dull black scales that seemed to partially hide the enormous beast in shadows. Behind him Erik heard Dirk draw his sword. 

"Friend of yours?" 

"I assumed you invited him," Dirk replied tersely. "Ever seen one before?" 

"Nope." At the sound of their voices the beast lifted its head and swiveled it to stare in their direction. It was just as bad as Erik had feared. Long, white teeth a hand's length long protruded from a mouth that looked like it could eat a tadmon whole. Sulfurous red eyes glared at them while blood dripped slowly from the snout. A low growl was building in its massive chest. 

"Get out of here!" Erik waved urgently at the people still frozen in place near the monstrous animal. "Now!" 

"Well, that's got its attention," Dirk said dryly. Sure enough, the beast was turning in the too-narrow hallway to face them. It bared even more teeth in a guttural snarl. 

"Got any ideas?" 

"Just one. Kill it." True to form, Dirk took a step back, leaving Erik to take the creature's first attack. 

With surprising speed the wolf-beast leapt, clearing the dozen paces between them in an instant. Erik braced himself for the impact, his sword held firmly in both hands. Even so, the force of the beast's attack nearly drove him to his knees, and it was all that he could do to keep his sword as it slid harmlessly off the beast's slick hide. _We could be in trouble here_, he thought, as he narrowly avoided the paw that slashed at his face. _Sure hope somebody thinks to call the guards. Not that there's much room for_--he parried another terrifyingly fast blow--_anyone else to join the fun_. 

"I could use a little help here," he called out, hoping that Dirk hadn't simply disappeared down the hallway. Not that he'd be likely to help, anyway. What he really needed was Marko, but that wasn't going to happen tonight. "Come on, Dirk!" 

"I'm a little busy myself, Erik." From the tightness in Dirk's voice Erik guessed that he'd found this one's pack mate. _At least I won't have to worry about him coming at my back_, Erik consoled himself. _Now if I can just keep this one from tearing through my front!_ An instant later he dodged, rolling to one side as razor-sharp teeth sliced through his tunic. The attack moved the creature past him, and Erik took quick advantage of the opportunity. Taking a step backward gave him enough room to swing his sword, and he met the beast's next attack head on. This time his blade didn't slide off harmlessly but bit deeply into the animal's shoulder. Its snarl turned to a cry of pain and Erik's chest loosened in relief. If they could be hurt, then they could be killed. 

Couldn't they?

**End of Part One**

More information on the terrific 1980's TV series Wizards and Warriors can be found at:

**Aperans: the Haven for Wizards and Warriors**


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Marko paced restlessly around Traquill's room. Twenty paces by fifteen by twelve. Forty seven paces and he was back where he started, looking down at Traquill's sleeping form. The wizard was looking better, Marko thought, snoring lightly and muttering from time to time in his sleep. At least it looked like sleep, and that was a whole lot better than he'd looked a couple of hours ago. 

_One, two, three…_Marko started walking again, trying to keep his restless, impatient nature under control. He should be with Erik. Erik needed him, he just knew it. Blackpool was here, up to the gods only knew what, and then there was that guy Deerborne. Nobody knew just what that guy was up to, but one thing was for sure: it wasn't any good. Cassandra had been in twice, bringing him food and ale, but even that hadn't helped. His place was at Erik's side. Uncle Trae would wake up, or he wouldn't. There wasn't anything Marko could do about that. Sure, whoever had done this to him might try again, but more and more Marko was convinced that they wouldn't be using any kind of attack that he could defend against. They needed another wizard, and those were in kind of short supply. 

The thunder had been rumbling for several minutes now, and it was starting to get on his nerves. It felt like the skies were waiting, impatient, for the fun to start. The animals in the castle were all uneasy, calling to each other for comfort and digging in before the thing finally hit. As if on cue, lightning crashed across the sky. Thunder followed almost immediately, loud enough to nearly deafen him, and was followed an instant later by a blinding flash of light. When he could see again Traquill was waving one gnarled hand in front of his face as if batting at fireflies. Marko ran to his uncle's side. 

"Uncle Trae! You're awake!" 

"'Course I'm awake!" Frowning, Traquill batted one last time at something Marko couldn't see before turning his head to face the young man. He looked a decade older than he had a day ago, but seemed as sharp as ever. "Who could sleep through all this noise?" The wizard gestured impatiently and Marko helped him into a sitting position. "Much better," Traquill sighed. He seemed to be about to say something, then paused, one long finger resting against the side of his nose. He sneezed once, explosively, then tilted his head confidingly toward Marko. 

"Got any salt?"

### 

Things weren't going very well. Erik pushed his sweat-matted hair out of his eyes with his off forearm, his gaze never leaving the creature in front of him. They were both bloodied now, blood trickling down Erik's belly from the deep claw marks where the beast had tried to rip his heart out. At least that's what it had seemed like, and after battling the thing for what felt like hours Erik was willing to credit it with a lot more intelligence than any dog he'd ever met. The two beasts were now working in tandem, hemming in both escape routes while wearing Dirk and him down slowly but surely. From behind him Erik could hear Dirk's deep gasps for breath as the man fought off another onslaught from his wolf-like opponent. 

These were clearly not natural beasts, and Erik was beginning to think that they'd never find out what would destroy them. Some supernatural creatures couldn't be killed at all, merely sent back to whatever hell-hole spawned them. And since they didn't have a wizard handy, that would be bad. Really bad. He blocked another blow and slid his sword beneath the creature's defenses. It was a good hit, and Erik allowed himself a moment of pleasure as his blade bit deep. His pleasure quickly turned to alarm as the beast launched itself at him, drawing the blade deeper within itself as it struggled to reach his unprotected flesh. He felt the tell-tale grate of bone on steel and bit back an oath. Sure enough, when he tried to withdraw his sword, it refused to budge. The blade was well and truly stuck. 

Behind him, Dirk didn't bother to hold back his curse as his blade bit stone instead of flesh. A second later hot liquid spattered against the back of Erik's neck. Even Dirk's incredible stamina was beginning to fade, it seemed. It wouldn't be much longer before the creatures simply wore them down enough to strike a killing blow. The creature on Erik's blade seemed to be laughing at him as it slashed at his face, struggling to impale itself deeply enough to reach him. At least it would be a quick death… 

"Not today," Erik spat through gritted teeth. Gathering all of his remaining strength, Greystone gave up pulling and pushed, shoving the heavy creature up and away from him. The beast staggered backward on its hind legs, howling in protest. His muscles vibrating like a lute string, Erik took a step forward. Then another. "I have really, really, had…enough…of…you!" With each word he forced the creature back until it was pressed against the far wall, the tip of his blade scraping against the stone at its back. He tightened his grip, preparing to twist the blade. A scrabbling sound caught his attention, and he looked down for a brief second. 

The beast's paws had been scraping helplessly across the rug and tile as he forced it backward, but now they found purchase. With knees than bent backward like a dog's, not forward like a mans, the animal easily brought its hind paws up against the wall. Muscles bunched, and then suddenly the animal was thrusting forward, its muzzle aimed directly for Erik's throat. 

_Stupid, stupid_, he had time to think, as sharp teeth brushed over the skin of his neck. The jaws widened… And then the creature was gone. Blinking, Erik looked stupidly down at his bare blade and then slowly upward to the figure now standing in front of him. 

"You always have all the fun." It was Marko, a grin on his broad features. "I get to see to the horses, and you get to play with the dogs." The beast, thrown halfway down the corridor, had recovered, and now launched itself at them again. With a grunt of effort Marko caught it and sent it tumbling back down the hall. "Uncle Trae says hi." 

"That's nice. How's he doing, anyway?" Erik's eyes never left the creature, which was slowly getting back to its feet a hundred paces away. 

"He's doing okay. Looks like he needs a vacation. He said to give you this." Marko handed Erik a small silk bag whose contents shifted under his fingers. 

"This is the best he could do? We're having a little trouble here, Marko." 

"Yeah, I noticed. You're gonna want to have some of those stitched. He said that the salt will act like a--well, that it will,--he said it'll really slow them down," Marko finished. "I think you're supposed to throw it at them." 

Opening the bag, Erik poured some of the white grains into the palm of his hand. It sure looked like salt. Doubtfully, he closed his palm over a handful of the grains and stuffed the bag into his belt. Marko handed him back his sword just as the creature finally regained its footing. Shaking its head, it howled and launched itself at them. Erik counted to two and threw the salt. 

The effect was extraordinary. As the first grains of salt came down the creature began to slow, and as it ran through the falling salt it immediately lost its uncanny agility, stumbling on the torn carpeting to land in an awkward heap at his feet. It snapped blindly at him, and Erik took a quick step back to avoid the still-formidable teeth. 

"Nasty thing," Marko commented. 

"You don't know the half of it." Taking a deep breath to steady his aim, Erik lifted his sword up and brought it down sharply. The blade bit cleanly through the creature's neck. It snapped at him one last time and then went limp. Almost immediately the body began to fade like last night's bad dream. Erik closed his eyes briefly in relief. 

"A little help, here?" Dirk's breath was coming in rough gasps as he was forced inexorably backward. The creature he was fighting looked badly injured, but showed no more sign of slowing than its partner had. "What are you two waiting for?" 

"I say we leave him for the dogs," Marko said, a small glint in his eyes. "Not like he hasn't done the same to us." 

Erik pretended to think about it for a moment, then shook his head. "Tempting, but we're here under truce. I guess selling tickets while this thing tears him to be bits would probably be breaking the truce." Erik spilled more of the suddenly precious salt out onto his hand. 

"Yeah, you're probably right," Marko said with a heavy sigh. 

A minute later the second beast was vanishing back to wherever it had come from. Dirk was leaning against the wall, breathing heavily. A scalp wound had coated half his face with blood, and the chain mail he habitually wore had been ripped to shreds, leaving beneath it a series of gashes that had sliced his shirt and portions of his chest to ribbons. 

"Took you long enough," he said. 

"Some guys just don't know how to say 'thank you,'" Marko said to no one in particular. Erik finished cleaning off his blade and sheathed it, giving his vassal a tired grin. 

"Not that I'm not grateful, but it _ did _ take you long enough to get here. And were are the guards? I can't believe they couldn't hear this." 

"They're a little busy," Marko explained. "I saw a couple more outside like these things. I grabbed one of the guards on my way in, told him to go get some salt." 

"We'd better make sure they've got it taken care of," Erik said. His arms and legs felt like lead, but there was no way he was going to leave his men to deal with one of these things alone. He spared a glance for Blackpool, who was now cleaning his own sword, his brow knitted in thought. "You sure these aren't some of yours?" 

Marko chuckled. "Maybe Vector just forgot to tell him about them. Like with Vulcar." 

Dirk ignored Marko completely. "_I_ certainly didn't summon them." He paused. "And I don't think Vector did." _Dirk must be really shook to admit that he didn't have complete control over his 'lizard_,' Erik thought with surprise. "If we want answers, I suggest we look to the men camped outside our gates," Blackpool continued. "I understand Princess Ariel has already had an encounter with one of them." 

_How does he do that_, Erik wondered. Erik would have sworn that no one, outside the immediate family, knew about Ariel's adventure with the man calling himself Roland Deerborne. "Let's make sure that we've got this situation under control, first," Erik replied. "Then we can worry about finding the soldiers. If one of them summoned these things, he can't be too far away. We'll find him." Erik made that a promise. 

### 

Tessa was drowning in terror. The sensations that had first assailed her when the riders had passed them on the road had returned, growing until they threatened to overwhelm her sanity and choke the life from her body. She felt soiled, stained beyond any cleansing. There was something horribly wrong in the very air she breathed, and the only thing that was keeping her from screaming was the tightness of her chest. 

In front of her Justin fought something from a nightmare. It sounded like an animal, perhaps a large dog or wolf, but smelled of sulfur and worse things and moved impossibly fast. It reeked of the evil that pervaded the air, and it attacked Justin mercilessly, forcing the prince back again and again. Tessa was painfully aware of the gaping wound in his shoulder, could almost feel his life's blood draining away with every movement. Thunder and lightning roared almost continually overhead. It was as if the whole world had gone mad. 

"What are you still doing here? Get out of here!" Justin's voice held raw desperation. Whatever it was that had attacked them was winning. Tessa tried to move, to scream. To do _anything_. But the fear was overwhelming. Her back to the garden wall, she could only stand and shake, praying that whatever evil this was wouldn't turn its face in her direction. 

A tearing sound like a knife through wet cloth brought her sharply back to reality. Something bumped heavily into her, and she bit back a scream that turned into a sob of relief. It was Justin. "Did you kill it? Justin, what's happening?" 

"Get out of here." His voice was a husky whisper, reminding her horribly of Martha's wet, hacking cough. He was leaning heavily against her, and now began to slowly slide to the ground. She grasped his arms, desperately trying to keep him upright, but he was much too heavy for her. Justin crumpled to the ground and all she could do was support his head and shoulders against her own trembling body. Her arms wrapped protectively around him and were instantly coated in a warm, wet liquid. _Oh, merciful gods. Please, don't let him die_. 

The beast was directly in front of them. Tessa could feel its hot, fetid breath on her face. Power seemed to flow across her skin like thousands of wasps, each one coated in a thin layer of slime. Its foul tongue caressed her cheek, and then she did cry out. A second later the beast did the same and was backing unsteadily away from them. But why? 

"Get away from her." Justin's voice was no more than a whisper, and she could feel the prince shaking with effort. He'd been carrying a knife in one boot, she remembered. The day after they'd met he'd used it to cut some fruit from a tree as they passed by. At the time it had seemed a pointless royal affectation. Now that short blade was all that stood between them and death. "Tessa, run!" 

"You're telling the blind girl to run for help?" Somehow his own bravery had given her courage, as well. "I'm not leaving you behind. I'll help you up, and we'll both go." 

"I don't think so." There was a quiet finality to his words that nearly stopped her heart. "You…go on without me. I'll catch up later." 

"Liar." Her fear was overwhelmed by a sudden spear of grief so intense it was painful. This thing, this creature, had taken the life of a man she had come to like very much. It stood in front of them, waiting for him to finish his dying so it could have her as well. This evil, stinking, cowardly creature…. Tears of rage as well and pain flooded her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. This thing was no part of the natural order. Even Martha's illness, terrible as it was, was part of the way of things. This monster was not. It was an abomination. The wolf-beast gave a snarl like a low laugh and took a step forward, sniffing avidly at the blood which soaked the ground all around them. It had been created to deal death, and it was eager to be about its mission. 

"No," Tessa whispered. Her ice-cold hand found Justin's, and she held it tightly. Thunder and lightning raced across the sky overhead, loud enough that it seemed to pound inside her head as well as out, and then the sky was weeping tears of its own. Something was building inside her, screaming to be let out. This wasn't fair. It wasn't _right_. As the creature shifted, preparing to strike, suddenly it was just too much. Tessa threw back her head and screamed. 

The skies themselves seemed to scream in reply. Heat and a light so bright she could feel it on her skin crashed around them, followed instantly by a clap of thunder that shook the ground like an earthquake. In the split second before the thunder deafened her Tessa heard the beast cry out in agony. Then the thunder came, and the smothering sensation of evil disappeared. Instantly, as if it had never been. The thunder and lightning began to fade away as well, and suddenly they were doused in a heavy, punishing rain. 

"Justin?" She shook him gently. "Justin, can you hear me?" His chest rose and fell weakly beneath her arms. "Justin?" 

"Hey. It's raining." She had to lean close to hear his words. "I…I like the rain. I-" He took a breath as if to continue, then slowly let it out, his body settling back against her. Numb, Tessa waited for his next breath. 

And waited. 

_It's not fair_, her exhausted mind protested. _It wasn't supposed to end like this_. Her arms tightened around him and the awareness that sometimes showed her what ailed Martha and others in their small band flared to life. The beast had nearly disemboweled him, tearing across skin and muscle from his ribcage down and across to the opposite hip. There wasn't much damage to the organs beneath, but the blood loss and shock had been devastating. Worse was the damage done to his shoulder. It had been dislocated and most of the muscle ripped away, the large artery that fed his left arm completely severed. Frightening amounts of blood had soaked through his vest and tunic, and more of it had soaked into the ground around them. 

But none of it mortal, in and of itself. The combined damage had been simply more than his body could cope with. Even now his body fought to live, his heart struggling to send the small creatures that could clot his wounds like the smallest of corks out to where they were needed. But his breathing had already ceased, and she knew his heart would soon stop as well. If only she had bandages, some way to stop the bleeding and give him back some of the strength that he had lost defending her. 

"Please don't die," she whispered. "I was just starting to grow a little fond of you, you know. And you haven't seen my Evana. How can you possibly miss that?" The rain beat down on them, washing away the last of the creature's stench and cleansing them. The same grief and anger that had filled her to bursting before was rising again, and this time she didn't fight against it, or scream it out uselessly at the heavens. Not knowing why or how, Tessa thrust that energy at Justin, thinking desperately of how simple it would be to mend his wounds. To give him life, where the creature that attacked them had given only pain and death. _Please, please_, she prayed to whatever gods were listening. _Please let this work. Please! _

If the gods were listening, they gave no sign. After a while the energy that had flooded her simply faded away. Justin lay still in her arms. The rain, too, began to fade away, as if it, too, had tried and failed. Tessa dropped her head to her chest and wept.

### 

The last of the beasts Traquill had called Hell Hounds died, howling and fighting to the very end, in the middle of the dance floor in Tronin's Great Hall. Erik lowered his sword and took an unsteady step back as the beast faded away to nothingness. Around him other men (and the rebellious daughter of Baron Hartsfall, Marjorie) were doing the same. The Hounds had steadfastly ignored the attacks of the hundreds of soldiers and knights in attendance at the Tournament, forcing Erik and a handful of the younger royalty from the other houses to fight off the attacks of nearly a dozen of the creatures. Now that the assault seemed to be over they were beginning to look around at each other in stunned amazement. Nothing like this had ever happened in all the years of the Tournament. The truce had been broken, the royal families attacked. But by whom? 

"It's never pretty, is it?" Erik's father had appeared, and lay a compassionate hand on his son's shoulder. 

"No, sir." Erik sighed heavily. "How many did we lose?" 

"I've asked the Captain of the Guard to do a discrete check. I think some of the families are still in shock. Many of them have never seen combat in their entire lives, much less lost a loved one to one." If there was criticism in his voice, Erik couldn't hear it. 

"How is King Tronin? I saw what happened to Morgan." Erik rubbed his eyes, trying to blot out the sight. Morgan had been more politician than warrior, but not a bad guy for all that. 

"About like you'd expect. He's half mad with grief." The hand on Erik's shoulder squeezed lightly. "I can only thank the gods that I don't have to share it. You did well, Erik." 

"I was lucky," Erik admitted. "And if Marko hadn't shown up with that salt when he did-" 

"I did better than I realized when I set him as your vassal," Richard replied soberly. "I understand he was hurt in the battle as well?" 

Erik nodded. "Yeah, he took a claw wound to the back. Cassandra's patching him up now." He frowned. "You know, I think he's the only one not of royal blood who was attacked. That's kind of strange, isn't it?" 

"It is. I'll mention it to Traquill. Perhaps he'll be able to make sense of all this." 

"Sire?" It was the Captain of the Guard. Richard released Erik's shoulder and in the blink of an eye was no longer Richard, concerned father, but King. _I'll never be half the king he is_, Erik thought regretfully. _But then, who could be?_ Richard nodded. 

"Let's have your report, Carter." 

"All of the beasts have been vanquished, sire. I've sent patrols through the entire castle and the surrounding land, with no sign of any more of the foul things. My men also tell me that the riders in black outside the gates have left. Trail sign suggests that they left not an hour ago." 

"Right about when the first attack began," Erik added with a frown. 

"That was our thought, as well. I've taken the liberty of posting scouts in the surrounding hills. If those riders attempt to return, we'll know about it." 

"That's good. I want you to send an armed patrol out at first light. I want to know where those men went, and I want prisoners. Be certain your men understand that. They may be tempted employ a little rough justice once they've found them, understandably so, but we need answers far more than revenge." 

"Aye, sir." 

"How badly were we hurt?" Both Erik and his father steeled themselves for the news. 

"Badly, sire. My men and I escaped almost unscathed," he looked down for a moment in shame, "but we lost five men of the royal houses. Morgan Tronin, Assad Baaldorf," Erik bit back an exclamation. Assad was Ariel's cousin. They had played together as children. "…Rhys Hartsfall, Jonas Montgomery, and Robin Stormhold. The younger Stormhold boy Will is badly injured, and not expected to survive the night. I understand that the Wizard Traquill is with him now." 

"If anyone can save him, Traquill will. How many others were injured?" Richard asked. 

"I have counted fifteen, seven of them quite badly. At least one, Peter Mayhew, will be crippled for life." Carter looked grim. "Whoever did this planned it well. Not a single house remains unscathed. My men are making inquiries, but so far there has been no word of anyone taking credit for the attack." His eyes moved meaningfully over to a group of northern barons, their heads together in quiet conversation. "Though of course many have formed an opinion." 

"It sounds like something Blackpool might pull, all right, but his people have been hit as hard as ours," King Richard replied. 

"Judging from Dirk's reaction, I'd say he was as surprised as we were," Erik added. "Not that that means much. Dirk doesn't have what you would call a united front." 

"We'll know soon enough," Richard said firmly. "Anything else?" 

"Just one thing, sire." The Captain of the Guard looked uncomfortable. "Of the major houses, only two men remain unaccounted for. One is Geoffrey Blackpool. I understand their own people have launched a search for him. The other is your son Justin, sire. He went out with our patrols, but no one has seen him since. I've sent two men out to…" he hesitated, averting his eyes from King Greystone. "To search some of the places he is more likely to be found." 

Richard Greystone frowned. "No, I can't believe Justin would have just wandered off with things this serious. Something must have happened. Erik, I want you to get Marko and go out there. Find him as quickly as you can, and then I want the three of you back here. As soon as things settle down a little more we're going to have to convene a meeting, and I'll need you with me, Erik." 

Erik nodded obediently, but privately he agreed with the Captain. They'd find Justin with a pretty girl and a bottle of wine. Still, it _was_ pretty weird that he hadn't shown up after the attacks began. You'd have to be deaf to have missed the howling, even with the storm that had come and gone so quickly. "We'll be back as soon as we can," he promised. 

His father nodded. "But be careful. I have a feeling we're not out of danger yet."

### 

Marko was coming down the stairs as Erik left the Great Hall, Cassandra on his arm. The handmaiden looked worried and flustered, and acutely embarrassed when she looked up to see Erik's eyes on her. A flush quickly flooding her pale cheeks, she bobbed a quick curtsey and excused herself, explaining that Princess Ariel was waiting for news of the battle. 

"She's…nice," Erik said as the handmaiden scurried away. While nowhere near as pretty as her mistress, the handmaiden did have a certain charm that certainly hadn't been lost on his vassal. 

"Yeah, she really is. I guess it's hard work, looking after Ariel." He sighed. "Cassandra takes her job very seriously." 

"Well, we'll have to see about getting her some time off. Maybe next month you two could head up to Michael's. Get away from all of this for a few days." 

"That would be good," Marko agreed. They had started walking toward the courtyard, and he frowned. "Why do I get the feeling that we're not going to get your wounds looked at?" He looked meaningfully at the rough bandages one of the serving girls had managed to put on the worst of Erik's wounds before the last of the fighting began. "You said if I go, you go, remember?" 

"I will, I promise," Erik said with a laugh. "But my father wants us to find out what happened to Justin first. He went out on patrol before the Hounds attacked, and he's never shown up." 

"Probably fell into a wine barrel and can't get out," Marko grumbled. "I mean, no disrespect, and I like your brother well enough, Erik, but sometimes it's hard to remember that the two of you are related at all." 

"Well, we are. And you're too hard on him, Marko. Justin's been there for us lots of times." 

"And he's disappeared on us lots of times, too," Marko reminded him. At Erik's look of admonition he added defensively, "And I couldn't help but notice that you don't seem too worried." 

"Yeah, well…" Erik shrugged. "He probably went off with that minstrel girl he's been talking about and got too…distracted…to hear the Hounds. Justin wouldn't have let us down on purpose." Not the most ringing of praise, Erik knew, but Marko deserved his honest opinion. "Come on. We'll start over at Michael's. If he's been there your brother will remember." 

### 

The rain had stopped, and with it the last of her tears. Tessa felt drained, as if some giant had come along and squeezed the life from her like a juicy piece of fruit. Her knees and ankles ached from kneeling in the same position for so long, and her arms felt like lead from holding so tightly. Focusing on her physical complaints put off thinking about the unthinkable, and for that alone she was grateful. A gentle breeze blew against her cheeks, drying her tears and the last of the rain. She could hear voices carrying over the garden walls and knew that she wouldn't be able to deny what had happened for much longer. 

_Talmor was right_, she thought bleakly. _We should never have come. I should never have let myself become involved with a royal. Nothing good has ever come from it. Ever_. Her chest hitched painfully. Perhaps she wasn't done with her tears yet, after all. _But I always thought that it would be I who paid the price._ A single tear trickled down her face. "I'm sorry," she whispered. Taking a deep breath, she loosened her grip on Justin, absently smoothing the rumbled material of his tunic. Not that it mattered, anymore. 

Out of nowhere someone grabbed her hand. She tried to scream, but all that emerged was a tiny squeak. Who--? 

"Hey," a familiar voice asked sleepily. "What did I miss?" 

"I-I-Justin, is that really you?" It sounded like his voice, and now her reeling mind was confirming that it certainly felt like his hand holding hers. 

"Well, who else were you expecting?" Praise all the gods, she'd know that playful tone anywhere. "Guy takes a nap for just a few minutes, and you forget all about…?" His voice trailed off uncertainly. "Did I just miss something?" He pulled away from her and sat up, bewilderment in his voice. "I remember fighting that crazy dog-thing, and…losing?" He twisted to face her, taking her hands again. "And you've been crying. What the hell happened, Tess?" 

"I'm not sure," she began uncertainly. Joy at his survival mixed uneasily with deeply ingrained caution, and she had no idea how to safely explain what had happened. "You fell against me, and then the storm came. I think lightning must have hit the wolf-thing…" She trailed off. Justin deserved the truth, but years of denying her gifts made speaking almost impossible. "It doesn't matter now. The important thing is that you're all right!" She didn't have to fake the relief in her voice, at least. Justin released her hands and she heard him patting at his clothes. 

"I remember getting hit a couple of times. Boy, that thing had some fierce teeth on it." Tessa reached out and touched his shoulder. The material was still in shreds, but beneath it his skin was smooth and unmarred. She sighed in relief even while she desperately sought for some reasonable explanation that didn't involved her own forbidden talents. She was still thinking when his hand came down gently over hers, holding her hand against his bare skin. 

"Why didn't you tell me, Tessa?" There was gentle understanding in his voice, and she sighed gratefully. He _knew_. "I know some folks aren't too fond of witches, but you oughtta know me better than that." Justin was getting to his feet, one hand still linked with hers. Tessa let him help her to her own feet, speechless. As she rose the world seemed to spin crazily around her and she shook her head, trying to clear it. 

"A witch?" She laughed uncertainly. "Oh, no! Justin, I'm not a witch! I don't know anything about magic, or witchcraft. I can't even _read_, much less read a spellbook." Witches and wizards were to be avoided even more so than royalty, or so Talmor had always said. And Justin thought--? 

"Well, somebody did a bang-up job of healing me, and I sure don't see anybody else hanging around. I was hurt real bad, I remember that much. I remember I…died." The customary good humor faded from his voice, and he sounded uncertain. 

"Oh, you were never dead. If you were, there would have been nothing I could have done," she reassured him quickly. Tessa came up short, appalled. "I mean, I--" She felt a blush crawl up her cheeks at her confusion grew. Every word out of her mouth seemed to be another knot in her own noose. Justin's skin felt comfortingly cool as he cupped her face in his hands. 

"Well, if you're not a witch, then what are you? Besides the prettiest minstrel I've ever seen," he added gently. The tenderness in his voice alarmed her far more than accusation would have. 

"I'm nothing, no one. Just a minstrel. A minstrel with a small gift. Nothing more than that, Justin, I swear it!" Her exhausted body was trembling all over, ready for flight. 

"From where I'm standing, that's no small gift," Justin said dryly. He was stroking her hair now, the way another man might gentle a spooked horse. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. It seemed very important that she make him understand. 

"I've never done anything like this before. Never! Once, when I was twelve, our horse broke his leg. He was screaming…and, and, when the miller's daughter fell into the well, I could feel her pain. She was so frightened...But it's gotten so much _stronger_..." she was babbling and helpless to stop. 

"Shhhhhh." He drew her close, his warm, blessedly living body a comforting presence against her own. "It's okay. Nobody's gonna hurt you." 

"But they will." Her arms were around him now, clinging to him as if to keep from drowning. "Talmor warned me about what they would do. If the men who started the wars found me--oh, Justin, you mustn't tell them!" She pulled her face away from his shoulder, wishing desperately she could see what he was thinking. For an agonizingly long time he said nothing, just held her, stroking her hair with one hand. She could hear the voices outside growing closer. If he told them what she had done… She shuddered. 

"Yeah, I guess I understand," he said at last, his breath warm against her cheek. "Seems to me you could do a lot of good with a gift like that, but …well, Traquill told me once that healing and hurting are two sides of the same coin. And I can think of somebody who'd just love to try that other side." His voice tightened with uncharacteristic anger. "And I ain't gonna let that happen." He kissed her forehead and the anger was gone. "What I don't get is how you learned to do it in the first place." 

"I don't know," she said tiredly. Now that she knew he would keep her secret the tension had drained out of her like a sieve, leaving her more exhausted than she had ever been in her entire life. "I've always been able to…do things. For as long as I can remember." Vaguely, she could remember a woman's laughter as a very small girl with pale blond hair made the fall leaves dance. "I wish someone had taught me. Then I'd know how to do things…" she yawned, "properly. But all they ever said was that I shouldn't ever, ever..." She snuggled closer. It would be wonderful to just stand here, wrapped in his arms, forever. She was so very tired… 

"I'd say you did pretty good." He lifted her chin until their faces were just inches apart. "And I still haven't said 'thank you'." Her breath caught in her throat, and suddenly she wasn't tired at all. With one hand she reached up and brushed her hand through his thick hair, then traced a finger lightly across his strong jaw. 

"You don't have to." 

"Yeah, I think I do." He leaned in closer and she lifted her head willingly. As their lips met she thought blurrily, _I was wrong._ This _is how I want to spend forever_.

### 

Michael had been closing up his makeshift tavern when they arrived. Overturned tables and a long rent in one of the tent walls suggested that the popular watering hole had not avoided the attention of the Hell Hounds. A scullery lad was sponging red stains from the sliced canvas, his eyes following Erik and Marko with fascination as they entered. As they approached the long wooden plank that served as the tavern's bar top a buxom redhead with a tray filled with empty mugs passed them, a saucy wiggle to her walk despite the late hour. When Michael spotted them he looked up and smiled in welcome. 

"Marko! Prince Greystone!" The jovial barkeep easily lifted the keg he'd been cleaning off of the bar and quickly ran a towel over the area, gesturing for the men to take a seat. "I didn't expect to see either of you tonight," his voice dropped, "not with what's happened." 

"Believe me," Erik said with a tired smile, "if we could've spent the night here instead, we'd have done it." He was about to refuse the bartender's offer when he saw that it was chaffa, not ale, that Michael had set on the bar in front of them. The hot, sweet drink would keep them awake and alert, Erik knew. Raising his glass in thanks, he took a quick sip. 

"Looks like you had a little fun yourself. Everyone okay?" Marko hefted his own mug and drained half of it at a drought. 

"We got lucky. One of those things came in here, and went right after Stephen Montgomery. You should have seen Margaret," he said with a smile of pride and exasperation. "Half a dozen grown men with weapons aren't making a dent in the beast, and in sails Margaret. She starts throwing everything in the bar that wasn't nailed down at it, screaming like a harpy the entire time." 

"And one of the things she threw just happened to be a salt shaker," Marko guessed. 

"Right in one. After that we took the thing down without too much trouble. But how did you know about the salt?" 

"Uncle Traquill. He woke up just in the nick of time, like always." Marko finished his chaffa and sighed appreciatively. "Man, that hits the spot." 

The two brothers seemed ready to have a leisurely chat. Erik took another quick swallow and set down his mug, touching Michael's arm to get his attention. "Michael, did you see Justin in here tonight?" 

The barkeep frowned. "Well, now that you mention it, sire, I haven't. 'Course, I've been pretty busy back here. Lucille!" 

At his bellow the redheaded tavern wench sauntered back out. She was Lucille Winslow, a favorite of all of Michael's male patrons. Her blouse was low cut and was scandalously form-fitting, giving even the most casual observer a clear view of her ample endowments. She smiled easily at both of the men and sat down on an empty stool, crossing her legs to reveal shapely ankles and lower calves. 

"What can I get for you gentlemen?" Even her voice was alluring. 

"They're looking for Justin. Has he been in tonight?" Michael's voice suggested that it was no time for her usual flirtatious behavior. 

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I remember seeing him in her earlier today. He barely even said hello." Justin was one of her favorites, and the woman was clearly unhappy with the slight. "He was talking to that white-haired slip of a _singer_." The emphasis on the last word made it clear what the girl's profession really was. "They had a fight. He left not long after, and he hasn't been back." She sniffed. "His taste is slipping, if you ask me." 

"Don't listen to her," Margaret advised. The other barmaid was a more muted version of her redheaded sister, both in temperament and complexion. She was standing over her sister's shoulder, a bucket held casually in one arm. Privately, Erik thought she was by far the prettier of the two. "Lucille's just jealous. Justin didn't even notice that she was in the room." Margaret's eyes sparkled with amusement. "He didn't have eyes for anyone but that minstrel girl. And they didn't have a fight." She glared at her sister. "Just a…a spat, I guess you'd say. I thought it was sort of cute. They left when her set was over." 

"And that was this afternoon?" At her nod Erik frowned. "And I saw him at dinner. You're sure he hasn't been back since then?" 

"I'm sure. Is he in trouble?" The concern in Margaret's voice was unfeigned, and even Lucille looked worried. Justin's easy manner was popular with the common folk, Erik knew. His brother was able to mingle with their subjects and the common foot soldier far more easily than he himself was. It was a gift that could have been put to good use, had Justin ever been so inclined. 

"That's what I'm trying to find out," Erik replied. "Do you know where I can find the girl?" From the sound of things Justin was once again in hot pursuit. If he hadn't brought her here, then they were probably back at whatever campsite the minstrels had set up. Both of the women shook their heads. 

"She's with old Talmor Greddick," Michael offered. "The last time I saw him he was driving a wagon with red and green stripes. You might try the rear northern courtyard. I think that's where most of the musicians have set up camp." 

"We'll do that." Erik finished his chaffa and stood up, his tired muscles protesting. It had been a long night, and it was a long way from over. "Come on, Marko. We'd better go find him or will miss the meeting for sure." 

Marko pushed himself to his feet with a groan of effort. "Man, either the days are getting longer or I'm getting older." 

Erik clapped him companionably on the shoulder. "You know, I think it's both. Come on. Let's go find him." He lowered his voice as they waved to Michael and the Winslow sisters and began to head across the courtyard. 

"I'm gonna kill him." 

"Can I help?"

### 

They hadn't gotten very far when Marko stopped dead in his tracks. "Huh. That's weird." 

"What?" Erik had kept moving, and turned in surprise to see his vassal half a dozen paces back, staring intently at the ground. "Did you find something?" 

"Probably nothing." Marko knelt and stared intently at the cobblestones. "Can you hand me that torch?" The nearest torch was at the entrance to what looked like some sort of garden. The wrought iron gates were open, and as Erik stepped up to free the torch from its holder his boots crunched on soil. Someone--more than one someone, by the look of it--had tracked dirt out of the garden and onto the cobblestones. Holding the light low to the ground he could see that the dirt had tracked far out into the courtyard. It was this that had drawn Marko's attention. Careful not to disturb the dirt, Erik carried the torch back to where his vassal knelt. 

"What is it?" 

"Thanks." Marko took the torch and carefully held it out on front of him. Boot prints stood out against the light clearly. "Yeah, I thought so. See, here?" Marko pointed to a smudged print that lay against the edge of the soil. "This isn't a boot print. Looks sorta like an animal, but not quite. And, see? Here's another. Looks like there's blood in this one. I saw a few drops of blood back there," Marko waved behind him, where the dirt petered out among the cobblestones. "That's what got my attention in the first place." 

"Looks kind of like a big dog," Erik agreed. 

"Kind of, but not quite. First time I've ever seen this print was earlier tonight. When Morgan Tronin was killed." Erik nodded. The hallway had been splashed with blood, and they'd all been forced to track through it as they fought the Hell Hound that had killed Tronin. Typical of his animal-loving vassal, Marko had seen the tracks of the supernatural animal amidst all the blood and gore, marked them, and remembered them hours later in a dark courtyard. 

"Good job, Marko." They both looked up in the direction of the tracks. They headed directly into the garden. And Erik couldn't help but notice that you'd have to pass by here if you were headed toward the rear courtyard. His stomach tightened. Hand on his sword, Erik started walking toward the garden, Marko beside him. Sure enough, the Hound tracks continued, tracking over all of the sets of boot prints that led inside. Whoever had been in there when the Hound entered hadn't come out.

### 

The garden was cool and fragrant, and under most circumstances probably welcoming. Now every branch seemed to reach out for them, all sharp thorns and entangling vines. The air smelled of blood and lightning. Erik's straining ears caught muffled sounds of movement. He signaled to Marko, who nodded before melting into the bushes. Waiting a count of three, Erik stepped quietly around the bend in the path. Sure enough, something was there, standing back against the far wall, almost invisible in the dim light. It was a man shape. It was… 

"Justin," Erik said with a sigh. As his brother turned around to face him, Erik saw with a mixture of relief and disgust that he was, indeed, with a woman. It was the minstrel girl Lucille had been so jealous of, her pale skin now turning bright red with embarrassment. "Why am I not surprised?" 

"Hey, Erik." Justin's voice was elaborately casual, but he made no attempt to introduce his latest conquest, instead pulling his long cloak down over his shoulders and grinning amiably. "What's goin' on?" 

"Not much. Just the usual. Magical attacks, people dying, stuff like that." Despite the presence of an outsider Erik let some of his disgust show in his voice. "You notice any of that?" 

"Yeah, now that ya mention it. Nasty looking things, ain't they? One of 'em showed up here, interrupted a perfectly nice little party." Now he put his arm around his companion, drawing her out to stand beside him. She clung to him as if for support, her long hair hiding her face from view. "I took care of it. You figure out who did it yet?" 

"Not yet. We're supposed to meet back at the Great Hall as soon as we can," Erik replied. Something was wrong, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. The girl was part of it. Pale, slender, and above all _quiet_, she wasn't Justin's usual type at all. Her brightly-colored if rather tattered minstrel's dress was coated with what looked like mud, and more of it coated what he could see of Justin's clothes. Not a foot from where he was standing was a large, blackened circle in the dirt. The smell of lightning was stronger here, as was the odor of fresh blood. 

"Sounds good to me. I'll just walk Tessa here back to her camp, and I'll be right there. Looks like we've got a lot of plottin' to do." Justin's voice was _too_ casual. 

"Justin, what _really_ happened here?" 

"I told you. One of those big, nasty wolf things came in here. I took care of it." He saw Erik's eyes drift toward the scorched earth. "Yeah, I had a little help. Lightning turned it into one crispy critter before I had a chance to have any fun at all. Now, you mind? I thought you said we had places to be. And Tessa here is just about dead on her feet." The girl did look tired, Erik thought, or perhaps ill. She steadfastly refused to meet his eyes, and there just seemed to be something…odd…about her. _There's something odd about this whole thing. If this was a lover's tryst, I'll eat Southwind._

"Yeah, why don't you do that?" Whatever had happened here would have to wait. Their father was expecting him. When Justin made no move to go past them, Erik nodded to Marko, who had appeared out of nowhere to stand beside him. Without a word they turned and left the garden. Time to get back to business.

### 

Ariel Baaldorf was an old hand at eavesdropping. Ever since Mother had miscarried when Ariel was five, Daddy had taken great pains to see that his darling only child was protected from anything that might hurt either her health or her spirit. Sometimes that wasn't so bad. It had kept her from having to spend hours and hours hunched over boring history books (and books about the war; in the last hundred years or so they were pretty much the same thing) for one thing, and had kept her supplied with everything that she could ask for. But sometimes it was very annoying, like when she wanted to hear gossip and news of what was happening beyond the walls of Castle Baaldorf. So, eavesdropping. She was pretty sure her mother knew about her nighttime forays, but then Mother understood how important it was to be well informed. Men made such a fuss over their wars and tournaments, but everyone knew that it was really the social and political games people played in castles like this one that made history.

Not that fighting wasn't exciting, sometimes. From her vantage point in an alcove on the second floor, Ariel could see servants scuttling around, trying to clean up the mess from the fight that had taken place in the Great Hall a couple of hours ago. She had missed that, having gone up to change and freshen after dinner, but had gotten to her spying spot in time to see the men being brought in from all over the castle grounds. Being injured in combat sounded pretty romantic, but she had been shocked to see that it was really kind of messy and very noisy. Who would have thought that grown men could make such a fuss over a little scratch? The screams and groans had been enough to turn her stomach. 

That was all over with, thank all the gods. The last of the injured men had been seen to by healers, two of them by the old Wizard Traquill himself. He gave her the creeps tonight, though she couldn't have said exactly why. Something about her shopping expedition this afternoon, probably. Already it seemed like something she'd read in a book somewhere, but Traquill and everyone else was treating her like the time she'd caught Trailman's Fever and almost died. That was silly. She was fine. She'd never been in any real danger. Daddy wouldn't have let that happen. She sighed and propped her head up on her intertwined hands, elbows resting on the alcove railing. If something exciting didn't happen soon, she was going to go to bed.

The servants were still cleaning up blood from the injured men--those tablecloths would have to be thrown away, no doubt about it--when the main doors to the Hall opened with a bang, startling her out of her semi-doze. Down below a servant dropped a full tray of dessert dishes, and somebody screamed. Several of the knights drew their swords. Ariel leaned forward in anticipation.

Oh, pooh! It wasn't more of those Hound-things, just Prince Dirk Blackpool. He looked very angry (He always looked angry. It was probably something in his diet.) and was surrounded by six of his own soldiers. He was carrying someone in his arms, and strode into the Hall like he owned it, heading directly for one of the freshly-cleaned banquet tables. He set the man, who looked vaguely familiar, down on the table and the clean white cloth began to turn red immediately. _Men! _she thought with disgust. _He couldn't have chosen one of the tables that was already messy?_

"Bring your healer!" Prince Dirk's voice carried easily up to the second floor, and Ariel jumped. So did several of the people down below, and two of the servants dropped what they were doing and immediately ran from the hall. From what she'd heard of Blackpool's temper, Ariel hoped for their sakes that they were running for the Tronin healer. If not, they'd better just keep running. Blackpool's soldiers fanned around him and the injured man, while everyone else shuffled around nervously. And who could blame them? Everyone knew that the Blackpools couldn't be trusted.

"Where is that bloody healer?" Blackpool shouted, and Ariel jumped again. Why was he so upset? From what she had heard, the Blackpools cared for nothing and no one but power. Why was he so worried about a soldier? They could always get more. Down below, the man in question groaned and rolled his head to the side, his hands clutching at his belly. Ariel bit back a gasp of surprise. It was Geoffrey Blackpool!

"Oh, darn it," Ariel whispered to herself. Geoffrey was a Blackpool, and Dirk's younger brother, but...cautiously she stood up and peeked down the hallway. It was very late, and everyone who wasn't involved in the cleanup had gone back to their rooms to sleep or to get ready for the meeting Daddy said would be held as soon as the hall was clean. Taking off her slippers (they were darling but the hard soles made a lot of noise on tile floors like these), Ariel padded down the hall and down the stairs to the first landing. With every available torch on the main floor lit the landing was cast into shadow, and she settled down unnoticed on the carpeted landing. She had a much better view from here.

Geoffrey was very pale and quiet, unlike some of the others who'd been in here tonight. His face was slick with sweat, and his head moved restlessly from side to side while he waited for the healer to arrive. Despite herself, Ariel hoped that the younger Blackpool would be okay. Geoffrey might be one of the bad guys, but he was also the only one to bother to find out what she really wanted for her birthday last year. That whole thing hadn't worked out too well, but at least he had _tried_. And he never laughed at her, never rolled his eyes in exasperation when she said something stupid. He was _nice_ to her.

"You there!" For a terrible moment Ariel thought that Dirk Blackpool was talking to her. Then she saw the solder standing at the foot of the stairs and let out a silent sigh of relief. The man--one of Blackpool's--stepped forward and saluted. "Find the Wizard Vector. Tell him that his services are required here immediately."

"N-no." Geoffrey's voice was so low she had to strain to hear it. "Not Vector."

"He has spells that can heal you," Dirk replied firmly.

"W-would you want him laying hands on _you_?" came Geoffrey's weak reply. "I think I'd rather take my chances with Tronin's healer." He started to say something more, then coughed. It was a wet, nasty sound, and Ariel felt her stomach do a slow roll. No, there was nothing romantic about fighting. When she looked back the healer was hurrying toward them. He was a tired-looking old man in gray robes that were now stained red in places. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Blackpool, then swallowed nervously.

"Wait are you waiting for?" Dirk snarled. "Are you honestly that afraid of a wounded man?"

"I doubt it's Geoffrey he's wary of." It was Erik's father, Richard Greystone. He had taken off the wonderful robes he'd been wearing at dinner, and looked kind of plain in his dark gray trousers and white tunic. He wasn't even wearing his crown! Nonetheless, all of the guards--even Blackpool's--came to respectful attention. "Are we going to have more trouble tonight, Dirk?" The question was polite enough, but Ariel could hear the warning beneath the nice words.

"I think we've all had enough for one night." Dirk's voice was still kind of arrogant, but he seemed to be calming down. "But if my brother dies because your healers withheld their aid..." he trailed off menacingly.

"They won't." King Greystone gestured and the healer stepped forward immediately. "Now, why don't you have your men stand down? We're all still bound under the Tournament truce."

"Pity not everyone seems to think so. Very well." Blackpool gestured to his men, who put away their swords and stepped back. Around the room other men did the same, and Ariel was abruptly aware of how tense everyone had gotten. Now people began to talk again in low voices as they went back to preparing the room for the meeting. King Greystone gave Prince Blackpool a brief nod, then turned his attention to a rapidly approaching soldier. The healer looked down at Geoffrey and frowned as a much younger man, clearly his assistant, arrived.

"You'd better hold him, Prince Blackpool. Stomach wounds..."

"I'm well aware of what stomach wounds are like," Dirk cut in. He leaned over and gripped Geoffrey's shoulders. "Do what you have to do." He sounded very grim, and suddenly Ariel wasn't so sure coming down here had been such a good idea. 

Without another word the healer picked up a towel and gestured to his assistant. The young man--who was kind of cute, in a bookish sort of way--took hold of Geoffrey's wrists and lifted his hands from his body, revealing a long, deep gasp across his stomach. Wiping away some of the blood (and there was an awful lot of it), the healer probed into the wound with one long finger. Geoffrey screamed.

Suddenly delicate little bells were ringing in her ears and the room swam alarmingly around her. Ariel's stomach gave another flip-flop, this time filling her mouth with saliva. She felt horrible. Why did they have to have wars, anyway? Geoffrey's cry cut off as abruptly as it had started and she opened her eyes.

"He's passed out," the healer was reassuring Dirk, who looked suspicious, furious, and worried all at the same time. "That's the best thing for him, right now." He had finished his examination, and now pulled out a needle and thread.

"Will he survive?" It was crazy--this was a Blackpool, after all--but Ariel could have sworn that Dirk looked more worried for his brother than mad at anyone. Maybe it was a trick of the light.

"We'll see." The healer hadn't looked up from his work, and there was a long silence. Ariel kept her gaze firmly on Geoffrey's face, not really wanting to see what the healer was doing. "There doesn't appear to be much internal damage, but we won't know for certain for at least a day," he said at last. "I've seen men with belly wounds like this fill with blood from wounds we couldn't see. We'll take him to the infirmary. It's warm and quiet there. I've stitch the wounds closed. Now we'll just have to hope for the best."

"If he dies--" Dirk began.

The old man lifted his head to stare directly into the Prince's eyes, his face growing cloudy with anger. "I am a _healer_." He said it like it said everything that needed to be said. Maybe it did. Then he relented. "You are welcome to put a guard on the door, Prince Blackpool, if that will ease your mind. Just see that your men don't interfere with our work." He sighed and rubbed at his eyes. "The gods know we have enough of it, tonight." He gestured, and two servants appeared with a wooden table with handles on it. Without a word they shifted Geoffrey gently onto it and then took him away, two of the Katerian soldiers trailing behind. Prince Blackpool stood there a moment longer, then whirled around abruptly and headed for the northern barons, a grim expression on his face.

Ariel stifled another yawn. It was dreadfully late, and if she didn't get some sleep soon she would look absolutely hideous by morning. _Maybe just a small nap_, she thought drowsily. No one was around, and she made it back to her hideaway on the second floor without incident. There was a padded bench in the alcove, and with any luck she could catch a nice long nap before everyone stopped fooling around and got down to business. Her eyelids began to droop as soon as she settled onto the bench, and she had just enough time to hope that the awful things she'd seen tonight wouldn't follow her into her dreams before sleep took her.

### 

"We should never have come here!"

The voice was Talmor's, and the intensity of it drew Tessa up toward the surface of waking. She was much too tired to fully awaken, but she dimly realized that the old man was as agitated as she could ever remember hearing him. Unable to awaken fully, Tessa lay on her narrow bed just below the surface of it, like a diver enjoying the cool water before coming up to breathe in the hot summer air. The voices washed over her in cool waves, bringing with them vague, half-formed memories of returning to their wagon not long before.

She'd been mostly asleep even then, awake enough to enjoy being carried like a small child across the huge courtyard but not enough to realize how staggeringly inappropriate it was. It had taken Talmor's stammering protest when they arrived to do that. Justin had brushed off the old minstrel's protests, walking past him to gently deposit her in her own bed. That had sent a sudden rush of heat through her veins despite her exhaustion, a heat not unlike the one that had gripped her when he'd kissed her not long before. Apparently he'd felt it as well, for he bent to kiss her in a less than brotherly fashion before murmuring that he would see her again tomorrow. Then Talmor had been in the wagon, politely but urgently begging Justin for news of what had happened. She had still been trying to puzzle out the unexpected intensity of her emotions (and, to be perfectly honest, of her desire) when their voices had faded and she slipped deep into sleep. 

Now the voices were intruding again. It was interesting to listen to them, really. Sort of like listening to a play about someone else.

"—never have agreed to come. We knew the risks involved." Talmor made a sound of disgust. "But I let myself be swayed by my desire to show off that cursed Evana's Ballad! May all the gods curse me for a fool."

"We both know that's not the main reason you agreed to come," came Martha's voice, full of gentle understanding, out of the waves. "You were worried about me, the both of you." She coughed, as if to emphasize the point. "Too worried. I'll be right as rain, with a little rest."

"Will you?" The pain in Talmor's voice made Tessa shift uncomfortably on her straw pallet.

"Better than I will if something happens to Tess—or any of us!—because we attracted the wrong sort of attention. Like tonight." She sighed. "We were so much safer on the road. And I'd come to like working the small villages. So much more grateful, they are. But we can't keep her locked away forever, Talmor."

"I know." Now it was Talmor's turn to sigh. When he continued his voice was almost plaintive. "But why couldn't she have just found some herdsman's son and settled with him? I can almost hear the gods laughing at us. For eleven years we do exactly as the old woman asked. We keep her away from the cities, away from royalty and the wizards that surround them. We keep her _safe_." His voice roughened. "And _the very moment_ we break our agreement everything goes to hell." He started to tune his lute. The lute needed no tuning, a sure sign that he was puzzling over some decision.

"We should leave at first light," he said finally. "I've no liking for going against the wishes of royalty, but that young buck Justin will forget her the moment we're safely away, make no mistake about it." He spat through his teeth. "There's a bull in heat. I was surprised he brought her back here, half-asleep or no."

"Now you're being unfair," Martha chided. "That one may be a regular playboy, but he does care for Tessa. I've seen it in his eyes. And I think he's got more honor than you give him credit for."

"You sound like you're matchmaking," Talmor grumbled, and Martha laughed.

"Oh no! He's a fine-looking lad, but our Tess deserves better than to be some charming royal's passing fancy." The clear affection in her tone made Tessa smile sleepily before the meaning of the words registered. Then she frowned, turning to bury her face in the pillow. Martha was right about Justin, of course, but oh, how she enjoyed his attentions. Resolutely she pushed herself deeper toward sleep, where young minstrel girls really did win the hearts of handsome young princes. _I wonder what I'd look like in that crown Gregory made?_ she thought sleepily. _Too bad I'll never have a chance to find out, now._

"Perhaps you're right. And if that were all that it was, I'd be inclined to let us stay," Talmor resumed. "But something happened tonight. I could see it in the prince's eyes." That pulled Tessa back from her dreams. Had Justin betrayed her after all?

"He said there was some sort of fight," Martha remembered. "Not that uncommon at a gathering like this one."

"You didn't see him up close. He'd been fighting, all right, but that was no barroom brawl. His clothing was torn near to shreds, and I don't think those were wine stains on his tunic. And he looked more like a man that's been dancing on a crumbling cliff's edge than one who's been out enjoying the attentions of a pretty minstrel girl."

"He certainly didn't seem injured when he showed up here," Martha replied. "You think Tessa must have--?"

"I don't see what else it could have been." He struck a chord hard enough to make one of the lute strings snap. "Blast it. Why couldn't she have been just another minstrel girl?"

"She has no choice in the matter, you know that." Martha's voice held the gentle reproof she used only when the two of them were alone. "No more than any of us. And would you truly wish such a gift away, if you could? She could do so much good…" 

"Until whatever has sought her all these years caught up with her. You remember what the old woman said. It will bring attention down on her—down on all of us—that we can scarcely afford. Mayhap it already has." 

"I don't think Prince Justin will speak of it. That young prince isn't the only one with a gift for persuasion, you know." She laughed. "I'd bet on a minstrel's tongue over a royal's, any time."

"Perhaps." Talmor said soberly. "But I've been hearing loose talk since we arrived. Those riders who passed us on the trail. Some of the soldiers say they're here searching for someone. A woman. And you remember how Tessa took a fright when they first passed." He paused, and Tessa could almost see her foster-father shaking his head. "I have a bad feeling about this. Whoever those men are, they're powerful enough to set an entire castle on its ear. If all that attention should turn toward us…" Tessa shuddered.

"We'll leave at first light," Martha replied, a tightness to her voice that had nothing to do with her illness. "I'll ask Merrick Vinneti to cover our dance turns tomorrow. And Juliana will be more than happy to…" Now they were discussing the practical details of returning to the road, and Tessa felt her finger's grip on wakefulness begin to slip. _I wish we could stay_, she thought sleepily. _What I wouldn't give for just one more, one more…_ Then there was nothing but the sweet peacefulness of dreams.

**End of Part Two**


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

The Great Hall was filling again, but this time there was no cheerful banter about the day's games, no wagering over who would win tomorrow. Instead people spoke quietly, embracing friends and sparing cool glances for their enemies as they milled about, waiting for someone to call their gathering to order. The servants had been hard at work, and all of the tapestries that had been hung in honor of the games had been taken down, to be replaced with the ruffled black ribbons of mourning. Liveried servants, already wearing black arm bands, circulated among the crowd with glasses of wine and trays of bread and cheese, but there were few takers. King Tronin and his wife were nowhere to be seen, but Justin could see his father at the far end of the hall, deep in conversation with Baaldorf. Half a dozen rulers of the minor kingdoms stood in the background there, obviously hanging on every word. Erik was there, too, with Marko behind him. Marko looked uncomfortable, the way he always did when he had to mingle with royalty outside the immediate family. There was something wrong with that, but Justin couldn't say exactly what.

A flash of bright red hair caught his eye. It was Marjorie Hartsfall, standing beside her father, the Duke of Hartsfall. She'd been a regular spitfire during the games earlier that day, but now seemed kind of limp and colorless. She also looked like she could use a little company. He took a step toward her, then stopped as Blackpool suddenly appeared next to them. All three looked grim enough to chew stones.

"She sure is something to look at, isn't she?" It was Cedrick Baaldorf, one of the dozen or so of Edwin Baaldorf's nephews. Cedrick, despite his name, was actually a pretty good guy. He looked drawn and tired tonight, and was sporting a heavy white bandage on one arm. "Too bad about her brother. I understand the old man is ready to declare war on everybody."

"Who's left?" Justin asked, reasonably enough. _Hard to declare war on a crazy wizard and a dozen guys in black. _

"That's the question, isn't it?" Cedrick shifted his arm in its sling. "Damn, but this hurts. Damon says I'm lucky the thing didn't tear it off."

"Yeah, they were pretty fierce, weren't they?" Justin scanned the room idly, looking for familiar faces. Erik had said something about people dying, and it was beginning to look like he hadn't been kidding. Several men who should have been here were gone, and most of them not the type to head out for a little wine, women, and song when things got a little dull. Not that things were any too dull tonight.

"Wish I had some of your luck." Cedrick was looking at him with half-serious envy. "You're certainly looking hale enough tonight. And Carlos was telling me all about this new tavern wench you found. She sounds very tasty."

"She's a minstrel," Justin corrected, surprised to feel a quick surge of anger at Cedrick's words. The guy didn't mean any harm, after all.

"What's the difference?" Cedrick shrugged. "Anyway, be grateful that you missed this fight. I wouldn't wish those things on my worst enemy." He gave a short, harsh laugh. "Well, maybe on them. But not on a drinking buddy." He sobered quickly and nodded his head toward the main entrance. "Tronin's arrived. Maybe now we'll get some answers."

Sure enough, Edward Tronin was walking through the doors, his wife a black-shrouded shape on one pudgy arm. The king himself wasn't looking much better. He'd abandoned the fancy get-up he usually wore, and was dressed from head to toe in unrelieved black. The dark color served to emphasize the lines that were etched deeply—and freshly—into his face. Tronin waved away the servant ready to formally announce him and without fanfare began to walk unsteadily toward his throne at the far end of the room.

"He sure don't look good." Justin frowned. The ragged grief on Tronin's face made it impossible to ignore the seriousness of the situation. An heir to a kingdom had been murdered. More than one, from the number of absent faces in the room. People stepped aside to let the host king pass, their voices hushed whispers.

"I'm surprised he made it at all. You know how much he doted on Morgan.," Cedrick replied quietly. "Look, there's your father." Justin's father was walking slowly but steadily down the path that had opened between Tronin and his throne. They met perhaps a dozen paces from Tronin's traditional seat, and Richard Greystone bowed gravely. The two men shared a few words, and Greystone put a hand on Tronin's shoulder. Tronin nodded, then walked to his seat with a little more certainty in his bearing. He helped his wife to her seat and then sat himself, reaching immediately for his wife's hand. With the other he waved toward the tables, and people began to quietly take their seats.

"That's my cue, I guess." Cedrick took a last drink of wine and nodded toward where his uncle and the rest of his family was gathering. "You going to join your father?"

Justin looked across the room. His father was already seated, Erik at his right hand. "Nah. They don't need me up there. And I hate heights." The tables closest to the throne sat on a raised dais of perhaps three feet. Cedrick grinned.

"Then maybe I'll see you later. They'll be at this half the night, I'd wager. With everything important decided in the first fifteen minutes."

"Yeah, you're probably right," Justin said lazily. "Think I'll just find a bottle of wine and one of them serving girls. Guy can develop quite a thirst in all this hot air." Cedrick snorted and nodded before turning away toward the Baaldorf contingent. His lazy smile still firmly in place, Justin picked up a half-full bottle of wine and ambled easily around the room. No one seemed especially surprised to see him there, rather than up on the dais. Eventually he came to rest in a shadowy alcove, nudging aside the rather pompous-looking statue that had resided there. It seemed like a good place to watch the show.

"Thank you all for coming." Tronin's voice was little more than a whisper, but it carried easily through the suddenly-silent hall. "We—I," he corrected, "I understand that you all have suffered losses this night, and are eager to be about your own family duties. I know," he swallowed, "how difficult appearing here tonight is. But there are things we must discuss, before we can celebrate the lives of those we have lost, and send them on to their final," his voice broke, "their final rewards.

"We come together because this was not an accident, a random strike from the gods. This was a deliberate attack. An attack made during truce, and made by magic of the foulest kind." There was an unsettled murmur that quickly died down when he began to speak again. "Already, I am told, there have been hot words of accusation against some of those among us, and steel nearly drawn. This must not be allowed to continue." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When they opened again, it was like looking into hell's own furnace.

"Those who have orchestrated this atrocity _will be found_. And they will be dealt with…harshly." You could have heard a pin drop in the room, the silence was so deep. "In a thousand years we have never been struck like this. No matter how fierce the war, no matter how hot the hatred ran, we have always come together at this time to remember our common bond. To set aside our enmities in the hope that we might find a better solution. Now all of that has been destroyed. Our hopes…" the fire was gone, replaced by the stunned grief of an aging father. "Our hopes have been shattered." He swallowed and looked down, his hand clenching Queen Tronin's hand tightly. After a moment he looked up and continued.

"I know that many of you have formed your own opinions on what has happened tonight. I hope you will set those opinions aside, and listen to what we have discovered with an open mind. I have asked Richard Greystone to speak for me in this matter. I hope—no, I ask—I ask that you set aside your differences, and not see him as your rival, or your enemy, but rather as a voice of reason in these most trying of times. Richard?"

Richard Greystone rose from his seat and bowed gravely to King Tronin before turning to face the assembled crowds. He looked tired, but determined. "Thank you, Edward. I'm sure we all share your grief at Morgan's untimely passing. He was a good man, a son to do any father proud." Justin shifted uncomfortably at that. He wasn't entirely sure that his father would say the same about him.

"And now we need to know why Morgan and so many other fine young men were sentenced to die this evening. Men, I should remind you all, from both the north and the south, Camerand and Karteia. This is what we know so far.

"Yesterday at about mid-day a group of riders appeared outside the castle walls. Some of you may have seen them. They dressed all in black, and came heavily armed. They bore the insignia of no known kingdom. We were prepared to drive them off if they proved to be bandits, or welcome them should they prove to be friends.

"They proved to be neither. Since they took no aggressive action, tournament truce required that they be left in peace. Soldiers were sent to guard them, but it appears that one of their number, a magic user—" he held up his hand as the crowd stirred, "—of whom you will hear more later from the Wizard Traquill, entered the castle grounds and made magical inquiries about the nature of the some of King Tronin's guests here." That was a nice way of putting it, Justin thought admiringly. It was the literal truth, but kept Ariel Baaldorf's reputation unblemished. "That magic user, who calls himself Roland Deerborne, came here looking for a woman of one of the royal families. A woman who had studied magic." Predictably, there was a stir at that, too. The prohibition against combining magic and royal blood was so deeply ingrained that few would even have considered the possibility. Blackpool was the exception to that, of course, but then Dirk pretty much made up his own rules as he went along. "At that time we chose to make our own inquiries, rather than make a public announcement. Perhaps that was a mistake."

"Perhaps? It damned well was!" Duke Hartsfall was on his feet, his face flushed with rage. "If we had known that there was some sort of rogue enchanter about, we could have taken the proper precautions. The bastard might not have been able to conjure those Hell Hounds at all, if we had been properly informed!"

"That's enough of that." Edwin Baaldorf wasn't shouting, but his voice carried easily over the growing noise. "Or didn't you notice the soldiers crawling all over every square inch of this place earlier today? The Wizard Traquill himself was looking for this…interloper. I daresay if anyone could find him, Traquill would have. Everything that could be done was bring done, Kavin. Now why don't you let Greystone get on with it? The hour grows late, and I don't know about you, but I want to know how we're going to catch this fellow." Hartsfall looked willing to continue, but quelled at a look from Blackpool. _Interesting_. Justin made a mental note to wander over Hartsfall's way when things calmed down a bit.

"Thank you, Edwin." Richard Greystone nodded to his old friend and then continued. "As King Baaldorf just mentioned, King Tronin and I doubled the watch, and sent men to search every conceivable hiding place for him, and for anyone else who might have been involved. I'll admit that we looked first to our traditional enemies." He nodded toward Blackpool, who nodded icily back. "At the time, it seemed the most reasonable conclusion. The attack tonight, and the fact that the men outside our gates left as soon as that magic-based attack had begun, suggest otherwise. Which means that we have a new enemy, one that threatens all of us equally. Since whoever orchestrated this attack is either a magic user himself, or has one at his command, I have asked the Wizard Traquill to speak on this issue. Traquill?"

"Thank you, your majesty." Traquill walked with slow dignity toward the main table, his eyes remote. The old wizard had walked through a door just behind the throne, Justin was surprised to see. Normally Traquill just sort of appeared wherever he wanted to be. Maybe he hadn't recovered fully from the attack on him. That was the kind of thing you didn't get over at the drop of a hat. 

Whatever Traquill's condition, he had sure pulled out all the stops for tonight's meeting, Justin saw. The wizard normally wore white robes so faded that they looked gray and that were usually spotted with a little wine or some of the apple he'd been munching on. Tonight he'd apparently decided to dress for the occasion. Traquill's robes were a blinding white, with a silver belt that trailed halfway down the front and matched the silver trim on the sleeves and hem of his robe. His funny-looking brown shoes had been replaced with finely worked white leather ones, thought they still came to a funny point in front. Around his neck his monocle dangled from a silver chain, the stone sparkling with blue magical energy. As he walked—walked, not shuffled—toward Justin's father, Justin could see people straightening up in their seats, expressions of awe on their faces. Wizards were rare nowadays, and while lots of folks had seen the end result of magic, only a few had ever seen a wizard in the flesh. Traquill nodded gravely at the people he passed, no smile on his normally cheerful face. It was a far cry from his usual demeanor, and Justin found himself frowning suspiciously as the old wizard came to stand at the king's left hand. What was Traquill up to, anyway? A moment later he shook his head bemusedly. Suspicious of _Traquill_? He must be a little shakier than he thought. Justin took a swallow of wine and leaned back against the wall. Traquill was beginning to speak.

"I have quite a few things to say, so you all might as well settle down and get comfortable." For a second the twinkle was back in his eyes, but it was gone again when the old wizard continued. "First of all, I've examined the entire castle, and I can tell you that there aren't any more of those ridiculous Hell Hounds wandering the corridors. And I doubt that you'll see any more—summoning them takes a lot of energy, for one thing—but just in case I recommend that you all carry a little bag of salt with you for the next couple of days. Every purely supernatural creature has some weakness, and salt's theirs. 

"I heard some of you complaining about your soldiers not doing their jobs earlier tonight. That's nonsense, and I don't want to hear any more about it." Traquill was scolding them all like errant children, and they weren't so much as batting an eye. "Hell Hounds serve two purposes. One, they find whoever meets the specifications that were set into the summoning spell. Two, they kill anyone who meets one but not all of those requirements. In this case, that meant those of royal blood, and those who have studied magic." He frowned, apparently about to add something, then continued. "Your common-born knights and soldiers would have been ignored, their weapons too. It was a good spell," he admitted. "One of the better ones I've seen in a long while."

"So glad you approve." It was Blackpool, naturally. He'd risen to his feet, and now bowed mockingly toward the Camerand wizard. "And I'm sure we're all very grateful for the lesson in magical theory. But perhaps you wouldn't mind taking a few minutes from your busy schedule to tell us how we can _ kill_ the wizard responsible?" Blackpool's words had started with a sarcastic bite and ended with an ice cold hate that was impressive, even for him. There were murmurs of agreement from the barons around him.

"You can't." The wizard unflinchingly met Blackpool's furious gaze. "For one thing, he's not a wizard. There are only three of us, and neither Vector nor Bethel was responsible for this little misadventure. And I'm pretty sure I'd remember if I did it." The foolish old man had made another brief appearance and was gone just as quickly. "For another, you'd have to find him, and that's going to take me quite some time. But I do have a few suggestions."

Dirk's eyes narrowed, as if something unpleasant had just occurred to him. He didn't say anything more, just nodded his head toward Traquill as if he was giving permission for the wizard to continue. He sat back down slowly, his gaze never leaving Traquill.

"Thank you. Now, what I was going to say is that, while the man behind all of this is out of your reach, his apprentice isn't. It's quite likely that this 'mysterious magician' is a warlock. Warlocks are mortals who trade their immortal souls for magical power in the here and now. Seems pretty short-sighted to me, but," Traquill shrugged. "There you go. The good news for us is that warlocks can't attack over a distance. That's why this Roland Deerborne is here, I'd wager. He's used his master's power to cast the spells that we've seen so far, and he's the one you need to grab if you want all of this to stop. I've come up with a device," he held out one gnarled hand and a small silver box appeared in it as if by…well, magic, "that will help you do just that."

The box didn't look like much, Justin thought privately, but Traquill was beaming as if he'd just conjured up a Frost Dragon. Across the room Justin could see the northern barons, who were ignoring Traquill's display, locked in deep conversation with Dirk Blackpool. Marjorie Hartsfall was among them, looking one heck of a lot better than she had earlier. Anger agreed with her, apparently. None of them had much interest in what Traquill had to say, and under the circumstances that seemed kind of odd. 

Listening with one ear to Traquill (who was going on about how wonderful his new trailing—no, tracking—device worked), Justin made his way casually to the back of the room. Following one of the servants, who had the nicest little sway to her skirts as she walked, he ambled out the main doors and around to a small side door he'd seen the servants using earlier. The servant girl continued up toward the main tables, but he stopped just inside the door. From here you could see nearly all of the Great Hall, but the narrow door itself was nearly invisible between two heavy wall hangings. If they lived in a castle long enough, most folks learned to ignore the comings and goings of servants, and since this door was used exclusively by them, Justin figured he'd be safe enough. He returned the grin the servant girl gave him on her way out, but shook his head regretfully at her raised-eyebrow invitation. Even if he hadn't been tired enough to sleep for a week straight, the girl just didn't seem that appealing at the moment. 

He had no sooner gotten himself into position than Traquill opened the silver box. Blue light spilled out immediately, flowing like water down the sides and disappearing just before it hit the floor. There was the shriek of a large bird of prey, and then a hawk, made entirely of light, erupted from the box and shot high into the air above them. There were gasps and shouts of surprise all around him, and even the northerners stopped talking long enough to take a look. The bird cried out again and began to circle the large room, sparkles of light trailing behind it like fire. It looked real pretty, but not very threatening. This was Traquill's big plan?

A flicker of movement caught his eye, and Justin looked back toward the front of the hall just as Traquill tossed a second small wooden ball into the air. It joined its fellow, arching through the air in a circle, apparently guided by the wizard's nimble fingers. Justin grinned, and watched as a third ball and then a forth joined the first two. It was an old trick, but one that had fooled him completely as a boy. He'd spent hundreds of hours trying to duplicate Traquill's juggling feats to little success before realizing that the wizard was using magic, not dexterity, to keep the balls afloat. He hadn't known whether to laugh or get mad when the wizard finally—

The bird screamed, and suddenly was diving through the air with the speed of a lightning hawk. It cornered sharply, knocking off one lady's hat, and then swooped on toward Traquill. It didn't return to the box, but began to circle lazily over his head.

"You see?' Traquill was puffed up like a proud father. "Once the spell hawk detects a spell being cast, it will immediately react. The range isn't that good—only a few miles—but I think that's all we'll need to catch up with Mister Deerborne. Once it's locked in it will follow whoever cast the spell, even after the spell itself has ended. Not a bad trick, if I do say so myself. Once this fellow casts his next spell, he belongs to us."

There was a general mutter of approval, and even some of the northern barons seemed to relax a little. Traquill seemed more his old self, and smiled contentedly as he held up the box and whistled loudly. The bird dove for the box immediately, disappearing into the tiny device without another sound. There was scattered applause.

"Now, the girl Deerborne is here after is a different matter, and one that you all will need to lend a hand in."

"Why can't you just make another one of those bird-things?" Anthony Stormhold was on his feet. "Seems to me that would be the quickest way to find the girl. I don't want anyone in league with this warlock of yours leaving here alive." Stormhold was normally a pretty even- tempered guy, but it looked like recent events had pushed the man close to the breaking point.

"I understand your feelings, Anthony. We all want revenge, but unfortunately—"

"Do we?" It was Vector, as big as life and twice as ugly. He stood in the main entryway, his voice carrying easily over the crowd as he began to walk across the room toward Traquill. You could almost feel the magic building in the room as the two most powerful wizards in the world regarded each other. It wasn't a particularly friendly look. 

"I wonder about that." Vector stopped some ten paces from where Traquill was standing. The northern wizard turned and bowed to Blackpool, who was by now on his feet again. "I apologize for my lateness, my lord, but I was unavoidably detained. It would appear that I have arrived just in time."

"What's the meaning of this, Vector?" Justin's father was also on his feet, frowning down at the evil wizard. "If you want a chance to say your piece, Vector, you can have it, but not until Traquill has finished."

"Even if he's telling you lies?" The wizard paused, waiting until every eye in the room was on him. "Or do you really believe all that nonsense about some _mortal_ warlock causing all of this destruction?" People shifted uncomfortably in their seats, and Erik looked like he was getting ready to give Vector directions on the shortest route to hell. Traquill, on the other hand, was standing stock still.

"Well?" Vector had turned back to Traquill, and now stared at him pointedly. "Perhaps there's some explanation that's escaped me. Some way that a mortal could have provided the power that this apprentice used to conjure Hell Hounds, creatures from the Seventh Abyssal Pit. Some way that this same mortal could have countered the seeker spell of a wizard more than a thousand years old," he gestured abruptly at himself. "Some way that a mortal could have slapped you, Traquill, into unconscious _for the better part of an entire day_. Tell me, please. I should very much like to know how your mortal warlock accomplished all of these things."

"We don't have all of the answers, yet," Traquill began. Was it just Justin's nerves, or was the wizard looking more than a little uncomfortable? "We'll know more when we find him."

"We?" Vector had taken another couple of steps forward. The room felt uncomfortably close and still, like the air just before a tornado hit. "You said that _ you_ would search for him. That you would look for him yourself, while you send these fools on a snipe hunt over a misbegotten _apprentice_. Why is that, Traquill? What are you trying to hide?

"Or is it that you're trying to protect him?"

"What are you saying, Vector? That Traquill is deliberately misleading us?" Richard Greystone's voice was heavily laced with suspicion. "I find that very hard to believe. Even more difficult to believe is that there could be a wizard out there that no one knows of."

"We were not always three," Vector replied with his usual sneer. "Or even four. At one time there were more. Warlocks aren't the only ones to take apprentices, are they, Traquill?"

"Of course not." Traquill shook his head. "But there have been no new apprentices since the rending of The Book. It may well be that there never will be, and that we three are the last wizards of Aperans."

"So we have come to believe." Vector nodded. Justin shook his head in surprise. This was the first he'd heard of any of this, but it kind of made sense that they'd need new blood once in a while. If what Traquill was saying was true, then someday wizards would be an extinct species. "But I can't help remembering the last apprentice we both knew. He came to a rather bad end, wouldn't you say, Traquill?"

"Yes." The word was little more than a whisper.

"I couldn't help but wonder if it hadn't happened again. What are your thoughts?"

"No." Traquill looked pale, like someone had just walked over his grave. "It's not possible. I would never--even you wouldn't try such a thing, Vector, not with The Book in pieces and the Rule of Four broken. This is some mortal warlock." His voice grew stronger, more confident. "Just because he managed to pull one over your eyes—and my own, I'll admit—doesn't mean that we've got a full-fledged wizard on our hands. Your paranoia is showing, Vector."

"I don't think so." Blackpool had left his seat, and now came forward to stand next to Vector. "Certainly it's not paranoid to wonder why a warlock should suddenly wish to declare war on all of Aperans. Or why you, Greystone, kept the knowledge of his activities to yourself for as long as you possibly could. Your own sons escaped unscathed, isn't that so?" Actually, it wasn't, but now probably wasn't the time to try to explain that. The barons—and quite a few of the Southern folk—began to whisper among themselves.

"I don't like the way this is headed," Richard began dangerously. "We have been nothing but up front with you, Blackpool. More so than you deserve."

Blackpool shook his head. "No, Greystone, you haven't. You wanted to blame this whole thing on us, and when that didn't work out, suddenly you came up with this fantastic story about a mysterious warlock. A warlock who has somehow escaped all notice until tonight. My family has a keen understanding of deceit." Nobody so much as snickered at that, which just went to show you how tense everything had gotten. Dirk looked directly at Traquill. "And we know when we're being lied to." Beside him Vector gave a sudden shiver and muttered something Justin couldn't quite make out.

"If you want to leave, Blackpool, go right ahead. We can handle this. We have some experience in dealing with magic and deceit ourselves," King Richard replied. Erik was out of his seat and standing just behind their father, who looked ready to call for Blackpool's head, truce or no.

"No. No one leaves." Dirk's voice carried easily over the growing noise of the crowd. "Any one of you could be in league with this wizard. And let's not forget the woman he's after. We _know_ she's here among us. Until this thing is settled, and the man responsible for the deaths of my people is caught, no one is going anywhere." The barons were nodding approvingly, and Justin edged a little closer.

"…told you we couldn't trust them," Baron Hartsfall was saying. "Prince Blackpool was right." Beside him Marjorie was nodding emphatically. 

"To think I was willing to believe that Greystone had no part in this," she said, her pretty face crinkling into an ugly sneer. "I think we need to—"

Whatever she thought was lost in the confusion as a dozen different people began shouting at the same time. Around the room knights from every kingdom came alert, their hands going to their sheathed weapons, as the tentative truce shattered.

It probably didn't matter much, Justin reasoned. Whatever help Blackpool would have offered would have been so laced with his own self-interest as to be pretty much useless, and untrustworthy in the bargain. And as his father had said, the Greystones and their allies were more than capable of taking care of a stray wizard or two on their own, thanks very much. But…

But. Vector had thrown up his hands in disgust, and now he and Blackpool were headed his way. The serving girl was back, filling up empty wineglasses that no one was likely to drink now. As she passed he reached out and deftly caught her around her narrow waist, drawing her back against him and ducking his head into her thick, curly hair. Blackpool and Vector passed by without so much as a blink in his direction.

"…about this Nadeem? Is this Traquill's new apprentice?" Dirk's voice was a frustrated hiss.

"Not a new one. A very old one, one long dead. I find it hard to believe that Traquill would dare to..." They kept walking, and the rest of Vector's reply was lost. Apparently nobody had much else to say, and the barons followed their Prince out without saying anything useful. The servant girl giggled in his grasp.

"That's more like it. I thought you must be ill, Prince Justin." He laughed into her hair. She was soft and pretty, and smelled of soap and cheap perfume.

"Have we met before, darlin'? I'm sure I'd remember you."

"No." She turned in his grip to smile up at him saucily. "But I've certainly heard about _you_. Is there anything I can do for you, Prince Justin?" The mischievous look in her eyes told him she wasn't talking about another bottle of wine.

"Very tempting." And it was. She was warm, willing, and probably pretty able by the way she'd been swinging her hips around all night long. Maybe that was just what he needed after a day like today, after all. He wasn't ready to think about what had happened--or almost happened--earlier tonight, and there was nothing better to blot out a few nasty memories than a bottle of wine and a warm, willing lady. He leaned forward to whisper something in her ear and caught sight of his father, urgently gesturing toward him. _So much for that idea_. "Maybe another time. Duty calls, darlin'."

She shrugged, a small smile on her lips. "I certainly hope so." Without another word she kissed his cheek and bustled off, hips still swinging provocatively. With a sigh for good things forsaken Justin headed toward where his father and Erik were waiting impatiently.

###

Emily flicked one last glance at Prince Justin as she left, ignoring the scowl of Jerome, the head servant. Justin was a cute one, all right. Ah, well. No one was in the best of moods, what with the games cancelled and all of those men killed. Still, it surely would have been enjoyable to share a drink (and quite a bit more) with the handsome younger Greystone prince. She stepped aside courteously as a group of well-dressed men, arguing furiously, swept by her, then deftly scooped up three empty wine bottles and a half-full tray of desserts and made her way quickly back toward the kitchens. Jerome never approved of her friendly ways, old dried-up grouch that he was, and he'd be sure to have all of the worst, most backbreaking chores assigned to her for the next month if she didn't look sharp now.

The kitchen was hot and steamy, and she felt a fine coat of sweat spring up on her forehead the moment she stepped into the crowded room. Three of the younger house servants were pouring boiling hot water into the enormous tubs along the far wall, their bodies wet with the moist heat and effort. They'd all be washing dishes and silver half the night, she thought with a half-resentful sigh. How much nicer it would have been to spend that time nestled in warm, strong arms instead. She set the three bottles down on a table with a dozen others and made her way to the cold room at the back of the huge kitchen. The desserts could probably be used tomorrow at mid-day, and, if not, they'd make a nice snack for certain hardworking servants. The cold room felt good after the heat of the main kitchen, and she took her time transferring the sweets to one of the long, narrow trays that sat along one wall.

_Emily._

She set the last dessert down and licked her fingers daintily. Had someone spoken? If Jerome had followed her back here—

_Emily._

That wasn't Jerome's voice. It sounded deeper, more commanding than Jerome could manage on his best day. But it did sound familiar…

_"Such a pretty little thing you are," he'd said. He'd been handsome, all right, with deep red hair and blue eyes that seemed to reach out and grab you with their intensity. He was obviously with one of the visiting royal families, but, though King Tronin was known for his hospitality, Emily couldn't remember ever seeing this particular man before. _

_"And where will you be working this evening, Emily?" The question was a caress, but for some reason she didn't want this handsome stranger to touch her._

_"The Great Hall. Jerome says that they'll be meeting to talk about the attack." She shuddered. She'd been part of the clean up staff, and never, ever wanted to see so much blood again. After the last of the blood had been mopped up she'd been forced to go and change her dress, and it was on the way back that she had almost literally run into the man before her._

_"Just so." He smiled, and her bowels turned to water. "Emily, I need you to do something for me. That's your job, isn't it? To serve your betters?" At her nod he continued. "While you are about your duties, I want you to listen carefully to everything you hear. Servants do that anyway, isn't that so?" She had nodded again, too frightened to speak. "And then, when they are through, their plans made, I want you to come to me."_

_"N-n-no," she had managed._

_"Yes." He touched her lips lightly with one finger and she wanted to scream, cry, and throw up all at the same time. "Don't worry your pretty little head about it, Emily. Forget all about our conversation." The world had started to spin. "I'll call. You'll come. Won't that be simple?"_

_She had started to reply, and the next thing she knew she'd been at the kitchen doors, Jerome scowling at her for being late._

Emily.

The voice filled her head, impossible to ignore. Setting the empty dessert platter down indifferently on top of the neatly placed pastries, Emily turned and walked out of the cold room and left the kitchen. Jerome did more than scowl when he discovered that she had left the cold door open and her chores undone, but by then Emily was far past caring.

###

Ariel Baaldorf was in heaven. She was sitting on a finely-carved chair with cushions that were embroidered with delicate little unicorns and that was just the right size for her small and delicate self. Nibbling on freshly-picked berries, Ariel sighed contentedly as yet another dress was brought out for her approval. All around her people caught their breath, waiting for her decision. It was hard work, choosing an entire wardrobe, but one that she was completely suited for. Someone—probably a servant—was whispering in her ear, distracting her from the wonderful dress in front of her. She waved one hand at him in annoyance, but the man just wouldn't shut up.

"Ariel?" That sounded like Erik, her kind-of betrothed. How odd.

"Erik? What are you doing here?" she asked sleepily. Erik shouldn't be here now. The wedding dresses were coming out next, and he really shouldn't see that before the wedding.

"What am I doing here? Ariel, what are _ you _ doing here?"

Something in his voice didn't sound right. Ariel opened her eyes. It was still dark. Something was wrong! She drew a breath to scream for Cassandra.

"Here." Her hat slid back on her head, and there was Erik, kneeling in front of her. "Are you okay?" He was smiling down at her. Ariel sighed. He was awfully cute, she had to admit. Especially when he was smiling like that. But what was he doing in her bedroom?

"I'm fine. But you're not supposed to be here. If Daddy finds out…" she trailed off as his grin broadened. Belatedly, Ariel realized that Marko was there, too. And when had the bed gotten so _hard_? A slow flush of embarrassment crawled up her cheeks. "Oh. Well, never mind." She straightened up on the alcove bench and patted at her tangled hair. When had she fallen asleep? It must have been quite a while ago; the Great Hall below was empty, save for a few servants, most of the torches now dark. "I was just," she tried to quickly think of a reasonable explanation for being caught out so late. She had a feeling that Erik wouldn't be as easy to talk around as Daddy was. "I was waiting for you. I thought maybe we could, could take a walk, or something. I haven't seen you at all since we got here, Erik." She gave him her most winning smile.

"It's a little late for walks around the castle," he replied. "You sure you weren't up here…eavesdropping?" He was still smiling, a nice, conspirator's smile. "I remember doing that when I was younger. My father would send us off to bed just when things got interesting." There was no hint of scolding in his voice, and Ariel relented with a wrinkle of her nose and a sheepish grin.

"Well, maybe just a little. Everyone was so angry tonight. I thought they were never going to get done yelling at each other." Belatedly she noticed that Erik looked tired. It wasn't fair. Even tired, he still looked handsome. The best she could manage when tired was cute, and who wanted that?

"Neither did I." He ran one hand through his blond hair. "What a mess." He offered her his hand and she rose willingly to her feet. He tucked her hand under his arm and they began walking back toward her suite. "Some Tournament this has turned out to be."

"It hasn't been much fun, has it," she agreed. "I really wanted to see you compete, Erik." Maybe it was the late hour, or the confidence they had just shared, but for whatever reason Ariel was suddenly aware of Erik, his arm warm beneath her hand. He was wearing the same boring old clothes he always wore, with a day's beard on his cheeks and a nasty-looking bandage on his upper arm, but she couldn't ever remember him looking more handsome. A strange but not exactly unpleasant tingle started in her stomach, shooting sparks all the way to her toes. And was it getting warm in here?

They were at her door much too soon. She was uncomfortably aware of Marko trailing behind them and Cassandra standing in the doorway as they approached. On the other hand, maybe it was just as well. Ariel couldn't think of a single thing to say.

Erik seemed a little uncomfortable, too. He nodded to Cassandra and awkwardly took Ariel's hand.

"Well, it's getting really late. I'd better get going. There'll be a lot of…stuff to do tomorrow." He was looking right into her eyes, a funny kind of surprised look on his face.

"Yeah. I mean, I guess you'd better. It being so late, and all."

"Yeah." He looked like he wanted to say something more, but didn't. Grinning his crooked half-grin Erik just stood there, and she felt a blush begin to flood her cheeks again. Who needed cheek blusher with men around?

"Well, I'll just be going," Marko said from behind Erik, much too loudly. "Lots to do tomorrow. Patrols, searches for killer wizards, stuff like that. It's time for bed. Sleep! It's time for sleep." 

For some reason Erik was laughing and blushing at the same time.

"Marko's right. We're all going to need our rest." He still looked like he wanted to say something else, but instead Erik lifted her hand and kissed the back of it, his eyes never leaving hers. That brought the tingle back, tickling her toes and making her knees weak. 

"I should really get my beauty sleep," she agreed faintly.

"You don't need it." He wasn't smiling now, his face only inches from hers. Ariel struggled to find a quick, clever reply. Nothing came to mind. Neither of them made a move to go. It _was_ hot in here, and getting harder and harder to breathe.

"Yes!" Cassandra was tugging insistently at her arm. "You really should get some rest, Princess Ariel. You know what happens when you don't get enough sleep." The very thought of not enough beauty sleep should have been alarming, but at the moment sleep was the last thing on Ariel's mind.

"And we have to be out with the patrols at first light." Marko was behind Erik, tugging on his uninjured arm. "Time to go, Erik." Marko sounded like he was thinking of something funny. 

A sudden crash of glass from down rang out loud in the silence, and Erik released her hand, reaching for his sword.

"Oh, blast it all! Where is that girl? I told her to get these into the kitchen hours ago!" A man's voice, sounding irritable but not at all alarmed, floated up from the Great Hall below. Everyone relaxed as the unknown servant continued, "Off playing the harlot with Prince Justin, I've no doubt. When I get my hands on that girl…" the voice trailed off and Erik grinned ruefully.

"Leave it to Justin to end up with a woman even on a night like this." He bowed over her hand, his normal easy smile back in place. "Marko's right. We're going to be sharing watches with Blackpool," he rolled his eyes at that, "and I promised my father I'd see how well that's working at first light. You be careful tomorrow, Ariel." He waggled one finger at her in mock sternness. "Until this wizard is found—well, his apprentice, anyway—people are going to be just a wee bit edgy. No more sneaking around without a guard, okay?"

"Well…" Ariel hesitated. She hated having everyone try to tell her what to do, but Erik seemed so serious, and protective, and there was that nasty Deerborne guy… "Okay. But don't think I'm going to make a habit of it, Erik Greystone." She shook her own finger at him. "I'm not going to live my life like some icky old monk!"

"No danger of that." That strange look was back on Erik's face, and he tapped her nose lightly with his finger before brushing it lightly over her lips. "Just be careful, all right? I'll try to get free for a while tomorrow. We can go for that walk then."

"Okay." Cassandra was tugging on her arm. "I'll…see you tomorrow, Erik."

"Good night, Ariel." With a polite nod to Cassandra and a warm smile for her Erik turned and left, Marko at his side. With a sigh of relief Cassandra pulled her inside and shut the heavy door. Ariel held obediently still while her handmaiden began the long, tedious process of removing all the layers that went into her gown and veil, her mind a thousand miles away.

###

Tessa pinned the last of her braid onto the coil that circled her head, her hands moving without need for conscious thought. The routine was as familiar to her as breathing. A freshly-washed cap fit neatly over the braids, providing both modesty and protection against the dust of the road. Her own preparations done, she carefully checked the placement of their bags within the wagon. Anything that wasn't tied down was likely to fall down the first time they hit a rut in the road, and probably right onto someone's head. Outside she could hear Gregory softly clucking to the horses as he checked the harnesses for signs of wear or rubbing that might cause them trouble once they were on their way. Talmor and Martha were outside, too, talking to some of the other minstrels and making the last of the necessary arrangements concerning the sets they'd been scheduled to play today. The last of her own chores done, Tessa sat back on the bench, her hands twisting restlessly in her lap.

Talmor had awakened them at the first sign of false dawn, telling her and Gregory of his decision that they should break camp and leave that very morning. Gregory had protested, of course. It was his first appearance at an event of this size, and the teenager was loathe to go before he'd had a chance to sample everything the Tournament had to offer. Talmor's reply had been terse and no-nonsense, and fortunately Gregory was sensitive enough to see that he'd get nowhere with the older man this day. Instead, he took his displeasure out on all of them, a surly presence that did chores with a glower and showed only the barest of courtesies to those who came to see them off. Tessa sighed. It would take Gregory the better part of a day or even two to tire of being so terribly mistreated, and until then they'd be traveling under a gray storm cloud of teenage unhappiness.

Tessa was no happier, of course, but knew better than to voice a protest. It was because of her that they were leaving so early, without half the coins they would have made and without a position for the coming winter. Last night she had accepted the situation with a dreamer's detachment, but today the impact of Talmor's decision had hit her fully, and it was all that she could do to keep a calm demeanor in the face of Gregory's protests. She, too, wanted to see more of the world, more of the sounds and smells of so large and illustrious a gathering, but after yesterday's disastrous events that was impossible. Even more, she wanted Martha safe and recovering, and that wasn't likely to happen now. They would travel all winter long, Martha's cough growing slowly but surely worse until the unthinkable happened. Unwelcome tears bit at Tessa's eyelids and she blinked them away impatiently. Tears clogged the sinuses and roughened the voice, two things a minstrel could ill afford. And she'd done enough useless weeping the night before, besides.

That of course brought her thoughts back to Prince Justin. She'd managed not to think of him at all that morning—well, hardly at all—but that regret was there, as well. He would be disappointed that she had left without a word, but of course Martha was right. A day or two and the prince would scarcely remember her, and that was for the best. Her own feelings would take longer to fade, but in time she'd be able to put this regret aside, too. Better to suffer a little now than to be cast aside later when Justin sought out another, her heart well and truly broken.

That was the smart decision. The right one. And when Martha and Talmor climbed into the wagon, she managed to smile brightly, joining with an enthusiasm she didn't feel into a discussion of where they would go next. Gregory clucked the horses into a slow walk, and they headed toward the main gates and freedom. It was all for the best.

Wasn't it?

###

The day had dawned bright and clear, with no sign of the storm that had struck with such unexpected fury the night before. Roland Deerborne looked up at the clear skies and pursed his lips thoughtfully. He'd paid no attention to the storm as it had gathered, other than to appreciate how the clouds had blocked the moonlight, making his job that much easier. But then the storm had erupted, just when he thought he had the girl in his grasp, and he realized just how badly he had underestimated his opponent. The Hound had no more than reported that it had found the girl, and that she had obtained a royal pawn to act as her protector, (_Smart girl_, he thought with grudging admiration) when the skies had gone insane. Lightning had crashed all around him, one bolt coming close enough to raise the hairs on his head, before a bolt finally found the Hound and destroyed it utterly. The feedback from its destruction had sent him to his knees, and by the time he had recovered his wits the storm was over as if it had never been. To the uneducated it looked like convenient happenstance, but he knew better. The girl had reached out and slapped down his creation as casually as another would swat a fly. He had felt the stirring of power, power that could belong to no one but the one he sought. 

She had to choose _now_ to begin using her power, he thought with mild irritation. It would have been so much easier if she was as ignorant as his master had promised. Had she been using her gifts all along, somehow hiding it from their sight? If so, she was going to be a formidable opponent. 

And a formidable ally, once she was back where she belonged. Finally, he understood the wisdom of his master's decree. Dead, she was no threat to them, and out of the reach of Fontaine and his rabble forever, true enough. But alive she would be far, far more useful. Aperans would fall within the year, to the glory of his dread lord.

Now all he had to do was find her. Thanks to his failure last night, that was not going to be easy. Soldiers patrolled every gate, every building. And thanks to the lovely Emily, he knew that to risk another seeker spell within these walls would be folly. As if in response to his thought the maidservant stirred restlessly beside him. He held up one hand, quelling her before she could begin her irritating whining once again. She subsided back onto the bed and he returned his attention to the open window.

Dawn had seen the changing of the guards, with as much adolescent pushing and shoving as you'd expect from common soldiers from opposing sides. They'd were still sorting things out, but it looked like it would be a reasonably professional job when everything settled down. Good. Let them think that they were safe. He smiled as a stableboy was roughly searched before being allowed through the main gates to go about his duties. Traquill had apparently worked them into a fine froth over the non-existent warlock if they were troubling themselves with the likes of _that_. Speaking of which... 

"Emily, come over here." The girl moved reluctantly but obediently, pulling the bed sheet around herself in a pathetic attempt at modesty as she approached him. He turned her gently to face the window, ignoring her soft whimper of protest at his touch. Below them in the courtyard a pair of men dressed in fine clothes were striding purposefully toward the main gates.

"Who are those men, Emily?"

"Prince Erik Greystone and Prince Justin Greystone," she replied as if by rote. It was what he expected--the Baaldorf chit had given good descriptions, if little else in the way of useful information--but he didn't like the sound of her reply. If her mind was broken, she would be of no further use to him, and the lovely Emily had one last deed to perform before he was through with her. Frowning, he turned her to face him again. 

She was vacant of eye, but bore no other outward signs of their little tryst the night before. Since no one expected great wit from a servant, that would probably be all right. _ If_ she could follow simple instructions, and _ if_ she could avoid raising suspicions at the gates. He caressed one smooth cheek with his palm. She flinched away, awareness flooding her face, and he nodded in satisfaction. She took a deep breath, clearly meaning to scream, and he deftly dropped his hand down in front of her face, whispering words that sent her tumbling back under his control. Drawing her back toward the bed, he moved around behind the compliant serving girl, his hands running slowly down her arms, pushing the sheet to the floor.

"I have one last task for you, my dear," he whispered in her ear. He could almost smell her mingled terror and desire. It was intoxicating, but there was work to be done. "I want you to dress, and then take your basket down to the main gates. From there," he continued, outlining his plan in quick, simple sentences. "You understand?"

"Yes." Her voice was stronger now. Good. It worried him to put so much on the shoulders of a servant girl, but it couldn't be helped. At least she wasn't likely to be noticed. If he'd tried this with the Baaldorf girl, as amusing as it would have been, she would never have gotten past the Princes Greystone, let alone the castle guards. A servant girl would never be noticed, and since his spell had been sunk into her long before Traquill conjured his spell hawk, no one would be the wiser.

He watched dispassionately as she finished dressing, them handed her the small servant's basket that held a few small coins, a list of goods she was to supposedly to buy, and a well-worn handkerchief. She accepted it wordlessly, and made no sound of protest when he then tied a plain leather thong around her neck. It appeared to be a simple good luck charm, worn by half the commoners in the kingdom. The luck would be all his, however. A pity for the girl, and for the soldiers awaiting his instructions, but it would serve him and his master well. Turning her to face him one last time, Roland gave Emily a final once over. Satisfied, he kissed her chastely on the forehead and escorted her to the door of their borrowed suite.

"Thank you, Emily. And good bye."

Roland Deerborne watched as the servant girl walk away, a thin smile on his face. The day was just dawning. By nightfall the ruling families of Aperans would be in ruins, and the girl he had crossed a continent for would be in his grasp.

It was going to be a very good day.

###

"I really hate mornings." Erik rubbed tiredly at his eyes, blinking against the bright morning sun. It shone down through the open window unmercifully, a painful reminder of how little sleep he'd gotten last night. And the night before. Marko nodded agreeably from his place against the wall.

"That's because you're doing it wrong." Justin was at the door to his suite, a wry smile on his face. "Mornings are just great, when you've got the right company. A pretty lady, all warm and soft, with curves in all the right places." His brother gestured with his hands, outlining curves not unlike those of the servant girl Erik had seen him with the night before. "That's the way a guy ought to spend his mornings. Not hip deep in work. Gonna make you old before your time, Erik."

"I'll take my chances. So what brings you out this early? I know it's not your deep sense of duty." Justin stiffened. Erik had meant only to tweak his younger brother, who was normally more than willing to let Erik take the responsibilities that went with being the eldest born and heir. Instead, he saw, he'd struck a nerve. They were all on edge, from stress and from lack of sleep, and this morning Justin's face was lined with uncustomary worry. Apparently his tongue and Justin's nerves were both more raw than he'd realized. Attempting to make light of it, he added with a smile, "Or did your lady friend kick you out of bed?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth Erik could see that he'd made a second mistake. Justin's face darkened, his eyebrows drawing together in an uncharacteristic glower. A second later Justin's easy grin was back as if it had never been gone and he shrugged.

"Oh, you mean the maid? What was her name. Emma? No, that ain't right. Emily. That's it. Nah, I called it an early night." Amusement glittered in his brother's eyes, and Erik gave a mental sigh of relief. The last thing they needed was a crazy blow up over nothing, with so much at stake. "Guy's gotta get a little rest sometimes."

"Well, you had me worried for a minute there." Erik grinned, and gestured for Marko to hand him his sword. "I mean, royal witches, I can handle. Mad warlocks, not a problem. But when Justin Greystone goes to bed without a pretty girl..." he shook his head in mock sorrow, "well, that just might be the beginning of the end."

"All right, all right, you've had your fun. Now, seems to me I remember somebody around here saying we ought to be ought checking the guard posts at first light." Justin leaned against the door frame and grinned. "I mean, I'd go by myself, but I don't want to scare anybody. Like as not they'd all think you'd died in the night, or something."

"Well, we'd better not go starting any rumors, then. Thanks, Marko." Erik strapped on his sword belt and nodded to his friend and vassal. "Why don't you go with Miller, see how they're doing on the southern wall?" Dirk had been right about one thing, at least: no one could be allowed to leave until they caught those responsible. And since they couldn't trust Blackpool to give them so much as the right time of day, that meant setting up duplicate watches. It was a waste of resources, but an hour's debate after the Blackpool contingent stormed out last night hadn't come up with anything better. They would go ahead with Traquill's plan, and everyone would look to their own houses and families to try to discover the identity of the woman of royal blood who was apparently the cause of these unprovoked attacks. This temporary solution hadn't pleased everyone, and unless they found Deerborne soon Erik was afraid that the Camerand unity which was their only real edge over Karteia would dissolve. Dissolve back into the dozen factions that had been the normal state of affairs for most of the last hundred years.

Marko nodded, following Erik's train of thought with the ease brought by years of service and friendship. "I'll make sure they keep things...calm. But you watch your back, Erik. We already know that this guy likes going after royalty." He frowned, obviously unhappy that he wouldn't be there to watch his friend's back.

"I'll be sure to be careful, too," Justin interrupted. "Thanks for your concern, Marko." 

Marko grinned and shrugged, as if to say, _oh, of course_. The duty-bound vassal might not always approve of Justin's easygoing ways, but Erik knew that his vassal would willingly die to protect either one of them. _Let's just hope it never comes to that._

"Day's not getting any younger. We gonna go kick some warlock butt, or what?" Justin asked. Erik shook off the disquieting thought and nodded.

"Let's get out of here. Marko, if you see Traquill's spell hawk fly, come running. I don't think Deerborne's likely to just throw up his hands when we catch up with him."

"You got it." With a final frown of disapproval at again being forced to leave his prince's side Marko turned and headed out the door. With tired grin Erik nodded to his brother.

"Duty calls." With an enthusiasm he didn't really feel Erik strode past Justin and out the door, nodding with absent-minded politeness to the scullery maid who dropped a surprised curtsey at his sudden appearance. 

"I hate it when that happens." Justin fell into step a half pace behind him with an easy amble that somehow managed to keep pace with Erik's determined stride as they headed down the hall and toward the main gates.

###

The sun had risen over the horizon only a bare half hour ago, but as usual the courtyard was abuzz with activity. Erik was forced to come to an sharp halt as a carter, intent on avoiding a group of washer women who had stopped to gossip in the middle of the courtyard, came to an abrupt halt a scant handspan in front of them. A young squire, surely no more than nine years of age, came pelting around the edge of the wagon, oblivious to everything but the importance of his mission. At the last instant his earnest young face registered their presence and he began to backpedal furiously, but not soon enough to avoid careening directly into Erik. The impact was enough to force Erik to step back a pace and to knock the much smaller squire backward to measure his length on the dusty cobblestones. Erik grinned. It didn't seem all that long ago that he had been nine years old himself, taking every order with that same earth-shattering intensity. The boy sat up instantly, his eyes growing wide as he recognized who he had run into. His mouth opened soundlessly, the color rushing from his face.

"Easy, now." Justin had stepped forward and now kneeled beside the squire, companionably dusting off his jerkin and then ruffling the boy's unkempt hair. "You were really moving. I'll bet you're here to compete in the banner chase, aren't you?" The boy grinned, exposing two missing teeth.

"The banner chase is for knights. Everybody knows that!" He was looking up at Justin with a mixture of amusement and condescension, his fear forgotten. 

"You sure you're not a knight?" Justin frowned in mock surprise and rose to his feet, offering the boy his hand. "I don't think I've seen any knight run faster. Even the ones running in the wrong direction," he muttered in an aside to Erik. 

"I'm not a knight." The boy accepted Justin's proffered hand and bounced to his feet easily. "Well, not yet, anyway." Mischief sparkled in his eyes, and he sketched a quick bow to both of them before dashing past them and into the crowd.

"Kids," Erik said with a shake of his head.

"Yeah. Remind me to bet on that one when he gets his knighthood. Kid's got legs like a racehorse."

"I will." Stepping around the carter's wagon they continued across the crowded yard toward the main gates. "So what _is_ with this sudden interest in our military readiness, anyway?" He asked the question lightly enough, but watched closely as his brother replied. Crazy as the idea was, he couldn't help but think that Justin was holding something back.

"Hey, I can hold a grudge as good as the next guy." At his look Justin shrugged easily, turning to look toward the gates ahead. "I liked Assad. And this is a little more serious than a squabble over a piece of land, ain't it? Don't worry, 'little' brother, I'm sure it'll pass quick enough." Justin had moved slightly ahead, and now turned to bow his head mockingly in Erik's direction. Erik was the older, by a little over a year, but Justin was the taller and sometimes took perverse delight in reminding his brother of that.

"You know, you _can_ be replaced," Erik warned. "Father's talking of remarrying, and I think Lady Marisela would be all too willing to give him a son or two. Sons who weren't quite so disrespectful of their elder brother and future King." He pulled back his shoulders and frowned, managing to hold the pompous expression on his face for several seconds before bursting out into laughter. Justin joined him, falling into step beside him.

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard that before. But think about how boring the castle would be without me around to liven things up. Which reminds me. I was thinking of bringing in some new entertainers, kind of lighten the place up a bit, and you know what Regis would say to that. Not to mention the good Dowager Ermetrude." Ermetrude was their maiden aunt and self-declared lady of the castle, now that Justin's mother was dead. Ermetrude had very firm ideas on what constituted behavior and entertainment suitable to their family dignity and position. Regis was the castle's Head Musician and highly favored by their aunt. A more dour, unimaginative man Erik had never met, but he knew his job, that much was undeniable.

"I don't know," he replied doubtfully. "You know how Regis is. He's got his own little musician's fiefdom going, and doesn't take kindly to 'suggestions'. If he complains to Aunt Ermetrude--" Erik paused in surprise. Justin was no longer beside him, but cutting across the courtyard at a quick pace. Concerned, Erik started to follow, then stopped short. It wasn't the main gates Justin was headed for, but a wagon waiting in line nearby. A wagon with red and green stripes. Erik sighed. It looked like some things didn't change much, after all. Leaving his brother to his 'musical' pursuits, Erik headed for the main gates. He was already involved in a minor squabble between one of Baaldorf's men and a Hartsfall sergeant that he realized that his brother never had answered his question. What was Justin up to?

###

They were leaving. _She_ was leaving. The thought brought with it a confusing tangle of emotions that left Justin's head reeling as he cut across the crowded courtyard toward the red and green wagon. Surprise was one of them. He'd never yet met a minstrel who would walk away from as lucrative an opportunity as the Tournament offered, and from the looks of their wagon a few extra kolnas would be real welcome about now. Then there was the obvious fact that she hadn't taken him at his word, which both irritated and disappointed him. The girl was deathly afraid of her gift, whatever it was, and of having the gift found out. She'd made that plenty clear the night before. Now it looked like she'd decided to hit the road before he'd blabbed her secret all over Camerand. That bothered him, though he couldn't have said why. Wasn't like the opinion of a slip of a peasant girl meant anything, was it?

It was Tessa's wagon, all right. He slowed as he reached it, looking for her. Things being what they were, none of them were going anywhere anyway, he consoled himself. They just didn't know it yet. Up ahead the peddler's cart at the front of the line had just pulled away from the gates and back into the courtyard. There were grumbles from some of the others waiting in line and old Talmor poked his head out of the front of the wagon as the peddler rode slowly by.

"Josef! What word have you?"

"Nothing good!" The peddler frowned, shooting a glance back toward the gates. "They say none are allowed to leave."

"For how long?" Talmor sounded more worried than angry. The only reply he got was an eloquent shrug. The minstrel rolled his eyes theatrically and his gaze fell on Justin. Talmor quickly averted his eyes. With an easy calm he wasn't especially feeling at the moment Justin ambled over to the driver's wooden seat and leaned one arm against it.

"Hey, Talmor. How's it going?"

"Prince Justin!" The old boy did surprise pretty good, but what else would you expect from a minstrel? "What brings you out here on this bright and early fall's morn?"

"Just workin'. You know how it is. Bad guys to chase, rights to wrong. Gates to check. You guys going somewhere? Seem to me I remember you havin' work _here_."

"Ah, well, yes." There was a pause you could barely hear, unless you were looking for it. "We assumed that after the events of last night no one would be in the mood for our simple amusements. And, no disrespect, sire, but in times of war and high magics it is invariably the simple folk who bear the brunt of all sorrows. As it is said, 'He lives not long who battles with the immortals'." It was a good answer, unless you'd seen the look on the old man's face when he'd brought Tess home last night. Talmor had been damned near as afraid as she was.

"Yeah, well, this time I think it's more like, 'He that is today a king tomorrow shall die'," Justin replied dryly. _'Specially considering who those Hounds were after_. The old man raised his eyebrows in surprise and Justin grinned sourly. Sometimes spending half your time in taverns and play houses did have its advantages. "Doesn't matter much, anyway. Nobody's being allowed to leave until we've got this all straightened out."

"I _knew _it. This is your doing, isn't it?" The voice was sharp and full of accusation, but pretty enough for all that.

Not sure if he was mad or just amused, Justin turned around to see Tessa standing near the rear of their wagon. She was dressed for traveling in the same well-worn dress she'd been wearing when they first met, her arms crossed across her chest, fingers bone-white where they clutched her elbows. Her expressive face was contracted with anger. _She's mad? Why the hell is _she _mad? I'm the one gettin' left b--being treated like a--_

"Well, why the hell would I bother with somethin' like that? You don't think I've got enough on my mind today without worrying about who goes sneaking out the back door?" he shot back, taking a step toward the arrogant, mouthy little...

"'Back door'? We were going at the front gates in broad daylight! Though I'm not surprised to hear that this is your idea of subtlety, _Prince_ Justin. Tell me, did you learn all that you know about tactics from your nanny? While she was teaching you your vastly overrated _seduction skills_?" She taken a step forward, too, her voice rising.

"Oh yeah? Well, I didn't notice you complaining last night!" 

"I was on the verge of passing out last night! A state I'm sure you're _very_ familiar with."

They were standing so close now that he could have reached out and touched her. Tessa's hands were planted firmly on her hips, her chin jutting upward defiantly. Anger had brought a little color to her cheeks and a sparkle to her pale blue eyes, making her look, well--

"You know, you're not nearly as good looking as you like to think," he snapped.

"I wasn't under the impression that you required a woman to be _attractive_," she replied, a sweet smile on her lips. "I thought 'still warm' was enough for you. Or have all the stories got that wrong?" Someone laughed at that, and Justin was belatedly aware of the fact that they'd drawn quite a crowd. He leaned in closer, but didn't bother lowering his voice.

"You're just upset cause I didn't drag you off to my bed last night." There was an approving chuckle from the men in the crowd and he had the satisfaction of seeing Tessa's creamy skin flush bright red.

"Dragging me off by force is the _only_ way you would have accomplished that. Unlike others I could name, _I_ happen to have standards. And you don't meet them." She was still smiling that sweet, evil little smile, but now there was a hint of playfulness at the corners of her mouth.

"_I_ don't meet _your _standards. Well don't that just beat all," Justin marveled, an unwilling smile spreading across his own face. "Don't you have that backwards?"

"The only thing I have backwards is that I said 'hello' and not 'goodbye' the first time we met. Now, why don't you just go on your way, and let us go on ours? Now that the Tournament has been canceled, there's no reason for us to stay a minute longer." The smile was gone from her face, replaced by a neutral mask. Her hands were held tightly in front of her, her lips a thin white line. "Now, do you mind? This isn't the sort of show I prefer to put on."

"Aw, what's the matter?" Still grinning, he reached out and took hold of her by the waist. "I've never heard of a shy minstrel before. I know. You just couldn't leave without getting a goodbye kiss, and you're too ashamed to admit it." She was pulling against his hands, but not too hard, a look of annoyance marring her beautiful features.

"You are the most arrogant, most self-centered, conceited and stubborn scoundrel I have ever met. I wouldn't kiss you on a bet. I'd kiss your horse first." He pulled her closer and she put her hands firmly against his chest.

"That could be arranged." He bent as if to kiss her and catcalls erupted from the crowd, which had continued to grow during their little chat. Tessa, who had started to relax against him, stiffened instantly.

"Justin! They're staring at us."

"How would you know?" He let her pull away a little, but not too much.

"I can hear them," she said dryly. "_Your_ love life may be a thing of public entertainment, but _ mine_ is not. Now let me go!" The last was almost certainly for the benefit of their audience, for she made no further move to pull free of his light grasp on her waist.

"Don't think I want to, just yet." That was true enough, but so was the fact that they'd drawn quite a crowd. Sure was nice to see folks smiling a little, after all that had happened lately. Through the crowds he could see Erik finish with his business at the main gates and turn to look in their direction. Even from here Justin could see the disappointed frown, the shaking of Erik's head in familiar disappointment. _Yeah, well, maybe there are other things more important than which soldier steps on whose toes._

"Come on." Not waiting for her assent, Justin released his grip on her waist and deftly caught one of her hands before Tessa could turn to leave. "I think maybe we need just a little more privacy." A few quick strides brought him around the end of the wagon and to the other side, Tessa trailing awkwardly behind him. Now they were between the wagon and the outer wall, cut off from most of the crowd...not to mention his brother. He dropped her hand and turned to face her, standing close enough that he could smell the faint scent of her perfume. "Now, what were you saying about a kiss?"

"You don't seriously think I'd let you--after what you just--you're daft!" She shook her head and took a step back, hands going back to her hips. "You've been taking those ridiculous tavern songs about your conquests far too seriously if you think that I would ever, _ever_--" He took her face in his hands and she hesitated, then continued. "...even consider allowing you to..." Her hands left her hips to press lightly against his shoulders as he took a step closer, "...kiss me."

"Well, if you insist." She stiffened as his mouth came down on hers, her hands tightening on his shoulders. Then all at once she gave in, relaxing her slender body against his and sliding her hands up and over his shoulders. One hand buried itself in the hair at the nape of his neck, drawing him down even closer as her lips parted beneath his. He could taste the sweetness of her lips, feel the soft, pleasant swell of her breasts pressed firmly against his chest. Restlessly his hands stole around her, pulling her snug against him and caressing her long, slender body through the material of her rough dress. She was only a half a head shorter than he was, allowing their bodies to fit together like two spoons in a drawer. For a while time seemed to stand still, and then he felt her smile against his mouth. Their kiss broke, and she laughed soft warm breath against his neck.

"Do you _always _end your disagreements this way, Prince Justin?"

"Not always." He nuzzled the delicate shell of her ear. "Lot more fun than a duel, though." He chuckled. "This mean we're done fighting?"

She slid her arms around his waist, her head coming to rest on his shoulder. "For the moment."

"You know, I kinda thought you wanted to stay." The unspoken question hung in the air between them.

"I did. I do. But--"

"But what?"

"We have to. Justin, it's not safe here. Not for anyone, but," she nodded against his shoulder, "but especially not for me. Or anyone with the misfortune to be around me. If this man, this wizard, were do discover what I can do, he would kill my friends in an instant to get to me. And you did nearly die last night, Justin." 

"That wasn't your fault, Tess."

"Wasn't it? I wonder." She shook her head. "It doesn't really matter. If he isn't after me now, he will be soon." She pulled away from him with a weary shake of her head, her shoulders dropping in defeat. "I have to leave, don't you see? It's the only way we'll be safe." She turned away, her arms crossed across her chest to hold herself tightly.

"So that's it. You're just gonna run away. Again. How long have you been running, Tess?" There was a knot inside his chest making it hard to breathe. He struggled to find the right words, something he rarely had to do. "When are you going to stop? When's it gonna be time to make a stand?"

"A stand." The words were a cross between a laugh and a sob. "Justin, you know how powerful this man is!" She whirled to face him, tears of frustration shining in her eyes. "Entire armies are being mobilized against him. He conjures up creatures so obscene that the earth itself cries out against them. _He is a wizard_. And who am I? A _nothing_. A freak with a--"

"_You aren't 'nothing'_." Justin took her face in his hands. "Don't you know that? Tessa, you are just about the smartest, the bravest woman I have ever met." He hesitated, then continued more calmly, still cupping her upturned face in his hands. "Sometimes you have ta fight back. If you don't, you spend your whole life running. Is that what you want?" He was rewarded with a faint smile, and he released his hold to run his hands lightly down her arms.

"I don't think I've ever seen you so intense. You'd better be careful, or you'll ruin that reputation of yours." She smiled affectionately, one hand coming up to caress his cheek.

"Yeah, well, why don't we just make it our little secret? And you haven't answered my question." Though when she smiled at him like that it was damned hard to remember what they were talking about.

"Do I want to keep running? Of course not. There's so much I want to learn, so many places I want to go. Places we've never been, because poor Talmor's spent half his life hiding me away like some expensive piece of art. Art never looked at, never touched. Until we came here, I never even realized how much I was missing." Her fingers brushed against his lips. "I don't want to leave. But if I stay..." she trailed off doubtfully. "How do I fight him? I can't cast spells." She grinned impishly. "And giving me a bow and arrow would probably be a terrible idea."

"Hey, I'd be right behind you. Safest place," he added with a mock shudder. "Now, don't you worry. We'll figure something out. The important thing is, you're not running away. And you won't have ta face him alone, Tess." He drew her back against him and kissed her forehead gently. "I'm gonna be right there with you."

"You're not going to get all mushy on me, are you, Greystone? I don't think I could handle another shock just now," Tessa asked pertly, her arms warm around his waist.

"Nah. Just haven't had a chance to get sick of your mouth yet. Give it a little time." Her arms tightened briefly and she chuckled softly.

"That's the Justin I've come to know and love. All right. We'll stay. But I hope you have a plan, Justin. I don't like the idea of just sitting out here in our wagon, waiting for that lunatic to find us."

"I'm glad you brought that up." Releasing her and taking a step back he put one arm casually around her shoulders. "You know, we're gonna need some fresh music around the castle this winter. I was thinking that maybe you and your folks could maybe come out there and stick around for a while. Maybe teach that old dog Regis a few new tricks. What do you think?"

"Could I put up with you for an entire winter? Well, it would be rough work, that's for certain." She wrinkled her nose at him. "But, well...it would solve several problems for us. I'm just not sure how that will help us _now_."

"Because any musicians in our service are considered a part of the Greystone household. Which means I can get you rooms in the castle. And the castle's the safest place around, just now. What do you say?"

"I say," she hesitated, then shook her head impatiently, as if to chase away unwanted thoughts. "I say it's an excellent idea. If you're certain you can--"

"Can put up with you? Well, we'll just have to see, won't we? Now, if you're done arguing, can we get moving? I happen to have important stuff to do today. Can't spend all day foolin' around with pretty women."

Tessa frowned and put a hand against his forehead. "Are you feeling all right? I think that blow to the head must have rattled your brains. Or did you really say you'd rather be doing something responsible than dallying with a woman?"

"I have my moments," he protested halfheartedly. "Besides," he leaned over to nuzzle at the side of her neck, "sooner started, sooner done. Then I can go get my horse, and we can talk some more about who you'd rather kiss."

"You're incorrigible," Tessa said with a laugh. "All right. Let's see these castle rooms. But don't get your hopes up," she warned. "I might actually _like_ your horse."

**End of Part Three**


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

_It had to be a dream_. One of those nightmares where you found yourself powerless to move while something horrible came slithering slowly toward you. Only this time is was her own traitorous body, walking slowly toward some terrible unknown while inside she screamed and screamed. It had started when had walked out of the kitchen last night, and now it seemed like it would never end. The red-haired man had...had…_touched_ her. Done things to her. His bare hands on her skin had been the least of them, and that had left her trembling with revulsion and shameful desire. The rest she wouldn't let herself remember. Couldn't remember, or she would go crazy.

If I'm not already. Emily watched her body dip into a polite curtsey as she walked past Prince Erik, a smile pasted to her face. She ached to reach out and grab his cloak, give him some sign that something was wrong, but her arms refused to obey her. Instead they obediently lifted her basket for the guard's inspection, then stayed up while he gave her a rough search that was just this side of a grope. Under other circumstances she might not have minded—he was cute, even if he was one of Prince Blackpool's men—but it was altogether different when you couldn't say yea or nay yourself, and today she had bigger problems on what was left of her mind. The guard nodded and gestured for her to go through the gate.

This can't be happening to me. _Prince Erik, somebody, please, help me!_ Unable to so much as blink an eyelid, Emily nodded mechanically to the guards and walked between them, heading toward whatever fate awaited her.

###

"Vector. Tell me you have news for me." Dirk Blackpool shoved away his untouched breakfast tray and gestured impatiently for the servant to leave them as his wizard swept into the suite. Vector didn't look well, his usual frown of disapproval etched even more deeply into his face .

"I have nothing further to report." Avoiding his eyes, Vector walked the wine decanter and poured himself a drink. The wizard didn't sip it, instead swirling the liquid idly around in the fine-cut goblet, apparently fascinated by the movement.

"Awfully early to be getting into your cups, don't you think? What with Wizards--or is it warlocks--running about? Not to mention the occasional 'royal witch'?" Dirk took a sip of his chaffa, his gaze never leaving Vector.

"Rather late, you mean. I have spent the entire night searching for information on how Traquill could have taken a new apprentice, and how in the name of all the gods he could have remained hidden from my sight for so long. I have read tomes no mortal has lain eyes on in five thousand years, consulted with demons so fearsome that a single misspoken word and I would have been torn into a thousand—"

"Yes, yes." Dirk waved him quiet with a bored gesture. "And you found nothing. I must say, your failures far outweigh your successes of late, Vector. Perhaps you're wrong. Maybe it is a warlock, and you've been wasting both our times."

"I'm not wrong. No warlock is as powerful as the being I have sensed. And no warlock ever born could have raised the power needed to raise those Hell Hounds. I'm not beaten yet." Vector took a sip of the red wine, staring moodily out the window. The rising sun gave his pasty complexion a rare flush of color. "If Traquill has indeed been foolish enough as to take another apprentice, after what happened with Nadeem, that leaves a trail from Traquill to our new enemy. One that I can follow. And I _ will_ find him. It's only a matter of time, my lord."

"You don't sound as certain as you did last night." Dirk rose smoothly from his chair and stalked toward his wizard, coming to stop directly behind him. When he spoke again his voice was a dangerous whisper. "I'm beginning to wonder if I can trust anything you tell me, Vector."

"It _is_ a Wizard, and an insane one at that." Vector replied, more forcefully this time. "No one else would have the ability, the sheer _ power_ to cast these spells, nor throw such power around with so little care. The scent of the magic makes that much abundantly clear. And equally clear that it is Traquill who is--or was--his master. Of that much I am certain, my lord." The wizard turned and looked unflinchingly into Dirk's eyes, power crackling in his eyes. "Believe me or not, that _is_ the truth."

"Yet I sense uncertainty, Vector." Dirk had to fight a sudden urge to step away, his hand going almost of its own will to the monocle on its chain around his neck. He was in control. Vector's magical knowledge and raw power was impressive, true, but as long as Dirk held the monocle Vector remained safely leashed. But should that leash ever slip… "What aren't you telling me?" With an effort that he refused to let show in his face Dirk held the wizard's gaze with his own, and it was Vector who at last turned away.

"The signs simply aren't there. When a wizard takes an apprentice, very specific spells must be cast, certain powers appeased. The Council must also grant permission, and no such meeting has been called since...well, since the time of Traquill's last apprentice. Not to mention the fact that the power involved in such a transition from the mortal state leaves traces in the magical ether that can itself be felt for centuries."

"Wizard apprentices are humans?" Dirk was intrigued. No one had so much has suggested—

"Never mind that now. In all likelihood it will never happen again, now that The Book has been severed. And _cannot_ happen with a mortal of royal blood," he added with asperity. "I'm afraid your ambitions will know _some_ bounds, Prince Blackpool."

"Something we can discuss more fully at a later time. For now, it sounds like you're saying that it cannot be an apprentice, Vector. I believe one of us is confused. Or mad." 

"What I said was that if Traquill were foolish enough to take another apprentice, I would find him. And I may yet. It's possible that the old fool has been hiding his true power from us. Biding his time, slowly gathering his strength until he and his apprentice could take control of all of Aperans."

"Traquill?" Dirk scoffed. "Vector, you know I approve of paranoia, but this—"

"Because he sides with the do-gooders of the South? Make no mistake, my lord. Some of the worst tyrants in history have been those who would rule 'for the good of the people'. Absolute 'good' can be as harsh and unforgiving as anything you or I could conceive of."

Dirk pursed his lips thoughtfully. "And you think Traquill is capable of this? Harnessing madness to defeat evil?"

"I think it unlikely. But with the power he gained when Kaltrinnia relinquished her monocle, it _is_ within the realms of possibility. He grows old, weary of fighting. And he _did_ lie to them about the nature of our adversary. Given what we now know, I think it the likeliest answer."

"Implying that there is an apprentice out there, despite your rather spectacular lack of success in finding him. All right, Vector. You said that 'if Traquill were foolish enough to take another apprentice'…" he trailed off thoughtfully. "Just what _ did_ happen to Traquill's first apprentice?"

###

"Of course at home you'll have separate quarters down with the rest of the upper servants—that's where I stay, and I make sure they stay very nice, so you've no worry there—but of course here we have to make do with what we can, what with the Tournament and the war and everything. I talked to Reyna—she's the senior chamber maid here, for all the work she does—and she says that this room is all that they have." The young girl sniffed disdainfully and stopped abruptly. "Even when I explained who you are—and it's not often that Prince Justin brings a mistress to the castle, I can't remember the last time that happened—she said there just wasn't anything better."

"I'm _ not_—" Tessa protested, but the young servant girl never stopped her chatter, even as she opened a heavy wooden door that squealed in protest.

"That needs work. Oh, well, I suppose this isn't bad." She walked into the room and there was the squeak of hinges and then light and fresh air bathed the room. Tessa felt Martha's hand on her arm and allowed her foster mother to guide her into the room. "It's nice and airy, and Reyna said she'd send one of the girls around with fresh linens." She sneezed. "This place looks like it was last aired out when the gods were kidlings."

"It will be fine," Talmor assured her. "We appreciate your efforts on our behalf, Mistress Kira."

"It looks lovely," Martha agreed. "After so many months on the road, this looks like a room fit for a king. With three beds, no less. I'm sure we'll be very comfortable here."

"And I'm _not_ his mistress." Tessa said, annoyed. _Though no doubt that's exactly what he wants everyone to think. That no good, arrogant…_

"Oh, who cares about that, Tess?" Gregory landed on one of the beds with a soft thump. "Wait'll you try the bed! No holes in the mattress cover. And you _know_ these don't have bed bugs." He scratched enthusiastically. Gregory frequently preferred to sleep in the stables rather than in their crowded wagon. As did a wide variety of insects.

"It does so matter! I'm not some, some…green-skirted harlot. And if that's what he's saying…" she began ominously.

"I'm sure Prince Justin said no such thing, Tessa." Martha's hand was on her arm.

"Well, no, actually he didn't, but, I mean, you are pretty, and well, Prince Justin brought you in, and if you know anything about what _he_'s like you know that's what everyone's going to think. You're really not?" She added almost as an afterthought. 

"I'm not," Tessa replied firmly. The young girl meant no harm, she realized. Justin had handed them off to her before hurrying off with his brother, giving the servant no clue as to their status within the Greystone household. The girl sounded very young--Gregory's age, perhaps--but had bustled them up here with brisk efficiency, chattering the entire time. And, as the girl said, given Justin's habits... "We're musicians. Nothing more."

"Well, half a dozen women in the castle will sleep better tonight," Kira said cheerfully. "Not to mention the dozen or so at home who have their sights set on being the next Princess Greystone." She snorted. "Not like that's likely to happen, silly gitches. Dragons will grow fur before _that _one settles down. Well, I'd best be on my way. The day's not half done and I'm already a day behind." With a heavy sigh for her many responsibilities the girl flounced out of the room. Pushing aside the small worm of disappointment (a feeling that was patently ridiculous; the servant girl had told her nothing she didn't already know), Tessa smiled and squeezed Martha's hand. 

"Why don't we get unpacked? Gregory's trousers still need stitching, and Talmor's wizard costume..." She put one hand to her head. The world seemed to spin slowly around her. "The wizard..." Her own voice seemed to be coming from very far away. Much closer was the smell of rotting flesh and the low buzzing of flies. Cold, bony hands were reaching out for her, clutching at her. From wherever they touched her a grave-cold clamminess began to grow, chilling her to the bone. 

"Tessa?" Martha's voice came through the fog, tinged with concern. 

"Something's wrong." With an effort Tessa formed words with lips gone numb with fear. "Something terrible." 

###

"Something's wrong with you, Justin. I don't know. Maybe Father dropped you on your head once too often when you were little. Something!"

"What have I done now?" Justin protested. They were headed toward Traquill's quarters at Erik's usual just-short-of-a-run pace, Erik looking over his shoulder at him with more than his usual exasperation. "And what's your hurry? Not like a couple of minutes is gonna make that much difference. And if it was all that important, Traquill would'a come out to us, you know."

"That's exactly what I'm talking about." Erik dodged around an overburdened cleaning woman without slowing. "Father sent word more than an hour ago to meet him in Traquill's quarters. Not when we feel like it, or after lunch and a little nap. Now." They cut across the Great Hall, Erik apparently not noticing the way folks hurried to get out of their way, or the way their conversations dropped down to a murmur as he and his brother passed. Lot of them didn't look any too happy to see the Brothers Greystone.

"And I can't believe that now, when we've got this wizard-warlock-whatever-he-is here doing who knows what, with armies _outside_ our walls and with Dirk and Vector doing whatever it is they're doing _inside_ our walls, that you can't manage to do your job for ten minutes without taking off to go chase skirts."

"Hey! I resent that, I really do. You had those guards taken care of just fine without me. And it's not like I wasn't--" He cut off the words before they could escape. Deerborne and his boss had been exactly what was on his mind when Erik caught up with him, but he couldn't very well tell Erik that. He'd promised Tess, for one thing, and for another he knew darned well that Erik would run off to Traquill and their father with it the moment he opened his mouth. Next thing you know they'd all be deciding what she was and what to do with her, and how best to use her against their new buddy Deerborne and his boss. After that somebody would point out that anybody who could heal like that would sure be real useful in their war with Karteia. Tessa would be trapped serving Camerand for the rest of her life, all without ever getting the chance to say yea, nay, or maybe. Something that he could sympathize with, all right. If Erik would just give him a little time maybe, just maybe, he could figure out a solution to this mess. One that didn't involve all of them getting eaten by those dogs from hell _or_ selling a pretty little minstrel girl into royal slavery. _Don't look like that's gonna happen anytime today_, he thought resignedly.

"Like you weren't what? Thinking with the wrong head? Again?" They were almost to Traquill's door, and Erik at last slowed his pace, shaking his head wearily from side to side. "Look, Justin, we need you. Hard as that may be to believe, _we need you_. Once this is over you can go fishing with this new girl and _both_ of the Winslow sisters, for all I care. Now, can we please get to work?" He nodded to the guards on the door and one of them courteously opened it. Both guards bowed their heads respectfully as Erik and then Justin entered the room.

"Hang on there, Erik." Justin grabbed his brother's arm, slowing his progress. "You know, you're not the only fella around here with anything to lose if this guy wins," Justin said. "It's my friends and family on the line too. Just 'cause I don't run around actin' like it's my gods-given duty to save that whole danged world--"

"I do not--"

"The hell you don't--"

"Good of you boys to drop by," Richard Greystone interrupted dryly. "I'm sorry to interrupt your...discussion, but I'm afraid we do have pressing business." He raised one eyebrow, looking less than amused. Erik promptly straightened up, looking abashed, but not before shooting his brother a dark look, as if to say, _This is all your fault_. Justin shrugged, but Erik had already turned to follow their father into Traquill's spacious suite. The guards shut the door behind him and they were alone. Their father didn't look real happy.

"I've asked Edwin Baaldorf to join us, but I'm told he's currently tied up with Dorian Montgomery. Erik, we'll need to talk about that later, but for now I'm afraid we're on our own." He gestured for them to sit down at the wooden table that sat in the far corner of the room. Traquill's own table and oversized chair were nowhere to be seen. Come to think of it, neither was the old wizard.

"So where's Traquill?" Justin dropped down into one of the chairs and picked an apple out of the fruit basket on the table. "I sorta figured he'd be here."

"So did we." His father looked grim. "Traquill came here last night, saying that he would attempt to find Deerborne's master while we conducted the search for the witch girl they're after. After talking to Dorian earlier I came to speak to Traquill and found his rooms like this." He gestured around the room and Justin blinked in belated surprise. He hadn't been in the wizard's room back home too often, but he knew that the wizard kept every surface piled high with books, scrolls, and jars of stuff a fella was better off not knowing about. His room here hadn't been that bad, but...

"He's been kidnapped?" Erik exclaimed.

"Sure were neat kidnappers," Justin replied dryly. "Nice of 'em to take the time to pack up all of his stuff and all." Erik shot him a look, and Justin grinned at him. There wasn't a sign of the old wizard or his things anywhere in the room. It was neat as a pin in here, and Justin had never met anybody who would toss a room and leave the place _cleaner_ than he'd found it.

"It looks as if he left of his own volition," their father agreed. "What we need to find out is _why_. It may be that he's merely following a lead to our enemy, but I'd feel a lot better about it if he'd left word first."

"This isn't going to sit well with the barons to the north," Erik said worriedly. "And if Dirk and Vector find out Traquill's gone, that might give them ideas. Bad ones."

"Not to mention all the ideas it's gonna give our folks downstairs. Looks pretty bad, 'specially when half of 'em are already thinking there's something to what Vector was saying last night. That's just about all the servants have been talkin' about this morning."

"And you didn't think this was worth mentioning?" Erik asked with a roll of his eyes.

"People are always talking, can't stop that. If--_when_ we catch this guy, none of it'll matter. But if they find out Traquill's high-tailed it out of here..." Justin shrugged. "The northern barons won't be the only ones thinking Traquill's involved in all of this."

"And us, by association," Richard agreed. "Edwin and I were anticipating this possible reaction, but we didn't know it had already grown so far." He rubbed one hand over his beard thoughtfully. "And if I'm right, Dorian Montgomery is going to take full advantage of the dissent in our ranks. We need to find Traquill, and soon. And the witch-girl Deerborne's been after."

"Any luck there?" Erik asked. 

Their father shook his head. "I've had our people making discrete inquiries among the family heads, and everyone swears that there's been no taint of magic anywhere in their households. Well, except for Dirk and the monocle he stole from Vector, and we know that's not what they're after. The only thing left is to have everyone submit to a truth spell, and you can imagine how well that would go over just now."

"Like a mother-in-law at a bachelor party," Justin agreed. "I don't get it. How hard can it be to find one little witch? I mean, there just aren't that many royal families, and it's not like you wouldn't notice somebody practicing black magic." Thinking of the woman that had supposedly brought Deerborne here in the first place made him think of Tessa. Keeping secrets from his father--well, important ones, anyway--wasn't in Justin's nature, and that Deerborne guy was after Tess, no doubt about it. But Tessa wasn't a witch, after all. His tangles with Bethel, (some of them not exactly unpleasant) told him that much. Witches of the wizardly variety needed a monocle to do their tricks. The mortal variety were supposed to use spell books and all kinds of smelly potions to work their magic, and he'd never heard tell of any cauldron witch able to heal more than a hangover. Tessa didn't have the first and couldn't read the second even if she had one, so that was that. _Yeah, but what if..._ Resolutely Justin grabbed the thought and tossed it into the dark little room where his memories of almost dying last night were still clamoring for attention. _Sorry, boys. You'll just have to wait until we're outta this mess._

"Magic users can be subtle," his father replied. "Though you wouldn't know it from what's been happening lately." He shook his head. "What I still don't understand is why anyone of royal blood would risk it. The consequences of mingling magic and royal blood can be..." He trailed off, and Justin realized with a start that his father seemed..._scared_. A quick glance at his brother told him that Erik was as surprised as he was. Justin could count the number of times he'd seen his father look this shook up on the fingers of one hand.

"You know, I've never actually heard what the consequences are," Erik said tentatively. "I mean, sure, we've all heard about the prohibition, but no one can remember it actually happening." He looked at their father curiously. "Seems to me like Dirk would be in a lot more trouble than he already is if the Council was really serious about the separation of magic and royal blood."

"It's not the Council's doing," Richard replied heavily. "This isn't the time or the place to give you boys a complete history, but there are a few things you need to know. Things I thought I would never need to tell you."

"Well, now you've got my curiosity all wound up," Justin said lightly, trying to break the sudden tension in the room. "You haven't made this big of a production out of one of your lectures since the time you sat me down to tell me all about the--"

"Never mind that now," his father replied with a stern frown. He did relax a little, though, so that was all right. "What you need to know is that the prohibition isn't some wizard's guild invention to keep us mere mortals in our place. If what we've heard is true, and a member of one of the royal families is learning to cast true magic, then we could very well be facing the end of the world."

###

Fear is like a toothache, Emily had discovered. At first it encompasses your entire world, leaving you incapable of thinking or acting on anything else. But after a while the bright flare of agony dulls to a low, steady ache. Life is reduced to a throbbing grey existence, but you can go on. You just don't want to.

It had been two hours or more since she'd left the castle, judging by the position of the sun in the sky. The day was as bright and clear as the dawn had promised, with birds singing in the trees and the occasional scolding from a wild tadmon when she wandered too close to its roadside nest. With a little effort Emily could even make herself forget the reason for her stroll this morning. If she'd been sent out for fresh redberries as her note said, she'd have taken her sweet time, picking only the ripest berries from the fields nearby until she had enough for the main table. All the while greeting the handsome men who traveled to and from the castle, bent on Tournament business.

But there were no handsome young knights and royalty, only grim-faced soldiers out on patrol, and the looks they gave her as they passed weren't exactly the kind to warm a girl's heart. Twice she'd been stopped and forced to show her papers. Each time she'd tied desperately to plead for help. Each time the spell had held her motionless while her mouth repeated the words _he_ had whispered in her ear. Whispered to her while his hands slid over her bare skin, warm and knowing and yet somehow repulsive, like the touch of a corpse. Even when her traitorous body had begun to respond to him, the feeling had remained. Had grown stronger, in fact, as he had--

_Stop it. _With a great effort she shook her head. It moved from side to side no more than a finger's length, but it was enough to get her mind off that perilous slope into sure madness and give her renewed hope. Even an hour ago she wouldn't have been able to so much as twitch on her own. She tried again, and with a gigantic effort managed to twitch the fingers of her left hand. Thank all the gods. At this rate she'd be able to move her arm in very soon. The it would be just a matter of waiting for the next patrol to go by. Even if they were Prince Blackpool's men they would _have_ to listen to her. The soldiers would tell the wizards, and when they destroyed him she would laugh and scream until her throat was ready to burst. Then she would take a hot, hot bath, scrubbing and scrubbing until her skin was finally clean. _It will be over soon. Just hang on a little while longer. Someone will come. Someone will save you. _She closed her eyes, wishing fiercely, her hands opening and closing spasmodically. _Just a little while l--_

The sound of hoofbeats ahead broke into her mantra and she opened her eyes eagerly. Sure enough, three men on horseback were coming around the curve in the road. She didn't immediately recognize their colors, but the black did suggest soldiers from the North. Not that it mattered much today.

"Help me!" She'd intended the words as a shout, but all that emerged from her still-numb lips was the barest of whispers. It must have been enough. The men exchanged glances, and then the tall man in the middle rode toward her, the other two watching the road in both directions. He stopped a few paces in front of her and narrowed his eyes speculatively. It wasn't a sexual look, not at all, although the man certainly did look...hungry.

"Took him long enough." He was looking at her, but somehow she knew his words were directed at the men behind him. "If we'd had to cower out here in the bushes for much longer I'd have started to grow roots. Come on, girl." This last was directed at her, and he jerked his head impatiently back the way they had come. "No use doing our business out here in front of the world." He tugged sharply at the reins and his horse wheeled about. Without another word he rejoined his men, leaving her to stare after him, dumbfounded. Did he really think she would just follow them off to who knew where? And who was he, anyway? The insignia on the back of their tunics now looked familiar, somehow. Something stirred in her memory. She _knew_ that mark, and knew that she'd never seen it before in her life. Didn't matter. She didn't need to know that these men were--

_The men you were sent to meet_. The voice was not her own, though it came from within her skull, where no other voice had ever been. _Follow them, Emily_. It might not be her own inner voice, but her body didn't seem to know the difference. Her feet started forward, the rest of her body cooperating agreeably as she began to follow the three men around the curve in the road. The warm cool felt good against her cold, clammy face as she walked around the bend in the road to whatever awaited her.

**End of Part Four**


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

"The end of the world." Justin leaned back in his chair and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. He didn't need to look to know that his father was dead serious, or to see that Erik's face had contracted in a frown as he started trying to figure out how to save the day. Didn't matter that he didn't know what he'd be saving it from yet. There was a problem (and a pretty big one, Justin was willing to admit), and Erik was raring to go. "You know, this Tournament gets less fun by the minute. You ain't talking figurative, political end-of-the-world, are you, sir?"

"No. I'd heard a little about this when I was a boy, and Traquill told me more when Dirk first took Vector's monocle. This is real, earth-shattering, thunderbolts from the blue kind of stuff." He snorted humorlessly. "Makes me sound like Traquill, doesn't it? The gods know I wish he were here."

"There must be some way to stop it," Erik protested. "Something we can do." He looked ready to go charging out the door, sword waving. "I just can't believe that Traquill would leave us at a time like this."

"We're already doing all we can," their father said tiredly. "Traquill assured me that it wouldn't come to this, and I believed him. He said that the circumstances weren't quite right. It's also what he said when Dirk took control of the monocle."

"Yeah, that's turned out real well, hasn't it?"

His father ignored Justin's remark and continued. "Traquill said that the prohibition against mingling magic and royalty referred to more than just one of us learning how to cast a few cauldron spells. Though he warned against that, as well." He shook his head. "Traquill was even more closed-mouthed about this than he usually is. He said that it had more to do with royal blood than royal actions."

"Like a sacrifice?" Erik hazarded.

"Possibly. Traquill was vague on the specifics. It was the only time I've even known that he was hiding something from me. At the time I trusted him. I allowed myself to be distracted by the consequences of this 'mingling,' whatever it is. Traquill said that such an action--whatever it is--would release terrible energies upon the planet, forces capable of literally tearing it to pieces. He said that even the wizards themselves wouldn't be able to stand against it. That it was prophesized that such a mingling would tear down all the kingdoms of Aperans, leaving only death and destruction behind. He showed me a little of the vision they'd all received. It was...very bad."

"Nice," Justin said sourly. "And all this time, no one's thought it might be a good time to tell everybody this? So nobody blows the whole danged world up by accident?"

"He said that the prohibition was so deeply ingrained after all these centuries that no one would dare break it."

"Except maybe by somebody who wants all that power bad enough to risk it." Bad enough to use somebody's royal daughter as a crazy kind of doomsday fuse. Justin shook his head. Some folks took gaining power way too seriously.

"I'm not sure even Dirk is that crazy." Erik rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Which brings us back to 'what do we do about it?'"

"Just what we have been doing. I have to believe that Traquill is somewhere trying to find the warlock behind all of this. In the mean time, we _have _to find this man Deerborne. And this girl he's after, whoever she is."

"And if he's already found her?" Erik asked quietly. It probably went the most against Erik's grain, him being the designated hero and all, but none of them liked what their father said next, even though they knew they had little choice.

"Then we may have to kill her." Richard looked as though he'd aged a decade. "May the gods forgive us. We simply don't dare risk anything less." Justin opened his mouth, searching for something, anything, to say that would erase the look on his father's face and silence his own nagging doubts. He was still trying to find the words when a shriek cut through the silence like a blast of icy winter wind.

"Traquill's spell hawk." Erik went to the window and looked out, then turned back to where Justin was checking the sheath of his sword and their father was calling to the guards outside. His face was pale and set.

"It's begun."

###

_This can't be happening. _How many times had she had that thought in the last day and night? One traitorous hand reached up and pushed aside a hanging tree limb and there they were. Better than two dozen of them, dressed in black and gathered around their campfire like dogs around their kill. The insignia stitched in silver on their tunics and emblazoned on their armor looked all too familiar now. The sign of a great silver and black dragon, wings arched, red-tipped spears and swords clutched in its great talons. _His_ sign.

_My sign_, the voice inside her head agreed. _Or, rather, my master's_. A tingling started at the back of her head, spilling quickly down her neck and down her spine. Behind that tingling (which felt like nothing more than a limb awakening after you'd slept on it wrong) came something else. It slid thickly down over her thoughts like warm, rancid syrup, taking away all possibility of movement or speech, before oozing down her neck and into her back. It spread out from her spine, invading every part of her. It was a thousand times worse than rape, a hundred times worse than what he'd done to her the night before. _I must thank you for your assistance, my dear. Without you, none of this would be possible._

_No_, she whispered inside her mind. _Please, whatever you're going to do, don't--_

_Enough_. The liquid heaviness fell over her thoughts in a crushing wave, leaving her helpless to think, helpless to act. She watched in abstract horror as her body walked calmly across the clearing and came to a stop in front of one of the men. He was clearly in charge, and the part of her that was her loathsome guest knew him well.

"Captain Stoner." The voice coming out of her mouth was hers, and yet it wasn't. It was deeper, more commanding. "Report."

The man nodded, as if this was no more than he'd expected. "We've evaded detection as you instructed, milord. Routine patrols have been seen since first light, but no signs of gathering armies." He looked vaguely disappointed, running one hand through coarse brown hair and shrugging before continuing. "More important, we've seen no sign of wizard watch. Either they are still busy fighting among themselves or they're more foolish than we anticipated."

"Not entirely fools, but you're correct. They don't know who or where we are, or have more than the vaguest idea of why we've come. Though that will shortly change." Her face stretched into a thin smile. "Oh yes, they'll know. In the mean time, I have work for you. Gather your men, Captain."

The Captain nodded, the gleam in his eyes unnerving. He was one of those men who reveled in warfare, she saw. One of those who took as much pleasure, if not more, from battlefield victories as from interactions of a far more personal nature. She'd seen more than a few such men in her time, and was always careful to stay out of their reach. Bed was just another conquest for such men, a woman just another victim to be conquered. He whirled away from her/them, calling to his men in a rough, excited voice.

"Get over here, you dogs! Look to it or I'll be wearing your guts for garters!" He slapped at one solder as he came stumbling toward them from his tent, one boot on and the other still clutched in his hand. The casual blow sent the man--no more than a boy, really--to his knees, but he didn't say a word. A moment later the solder was on his feet, his boots on, hastily belting his trousers while avoiding his captain's gaze. "Allert! Broswin! Move your asses!"

"The men standing watch as well, Captain." She scarcely paid attention to the words coming from her lips. Inside, something was curling and twisting restlessly. Anticipation ran through her veins together with a malicious glee. The Captain looked doubtful, but nodded and gestured to one of his men, who nodded and disappeared into the brush.

In seemingly no time at all they were gathered before her, formed into rough lines, their eyes locked on her. Or on what she carried inside her, at any rate. Her head nodded regally. "Very good. I can see that you have all kept yourself fit and ready for your master's service. And he is well pleased." A slight shuffling ran through the men. "Tonight all our effort shall be rewarded. We will fall upon the fools of this place like a dread wave, crushing them beneath our boots. Nearly every man, woman, and child of royal blood in all of Aperans will be there, with little more than an honor guard to protect them. We will destroy them in a single blow, then take what we will." Approving grunts and nods flowed among the men, though she noticed that they were careful not to interrupt her/them. 

"There remains only one thing left undone. Captain Stoner." Stoner took two steps forward and bowed his head.

"Milord."

"I have brought you a gift. One that will ensure your men's victory." From around her neck her hands pulled the leather thong Deerborne had put there a lifetime ago. "It was crafted at my master's behest, for just this occasion." She held it out to him. "Read it aloud, so that all your men may hear it and benefit from it." The thong seemed to wriggle against her fingertips like a worm left too long in the sun. Stoner reached for it eagerly, then frowned at the inscription.

"I cannot read this, Milord Deerborne. It is no language than I have knowledge of."

"Surely not, for it is the language of magic. Just say the words aloud, as best as you are able. The gods will forgive you your lapses in pronunciation, I'm sure." The glee was still there, and getting stronger, as was the anticipation. In a horrible way, it was like waiting for a play to begin, one that you've waited all winter to see. The sensation left her frightened, excited, and ready to throw up.

"As you say. Gather round, men! Our master has a special blessing for us."

_Oh yes he does_, Deerborne thought with her mind. _Though I doubt you'll appreciate what my Lord of Death and Decay has gifted you with, Captain._

"Adeth ankah suliman atress. Summa kalifah enterimos. Enterimos mes deia, mes--" he broke off, a fine sheen of sweat suddenly coating his face. Darkness flickered across his skin like a shadow. "Mes ankah, mes suliman. Petrifo can stelkar--" Stoner's face went white as a sheet, then dull grey. And did his face look...thinner?

"Continue, Captain." Behind their leader the men were shifting uncomfortably. Several groaned, and one dropped to his knees, heaving helplessly. Captain Stoner looked at her, his eyes filled with a dreadful knowledge.

"_Continue_." The word was a commanding whisper, a cruel smile etching itself on her features.

"...stelkar andramine, por etos." His voice was no longer strong and confident, but the voice of a man on his sickbed. Or his deathbed, her mind amended. Now she was sure his face was thinner, nearly gaunt, the skin stretched taut across cheekbones that seemed far too prominent. His skin had turned a dull grey, and while she watched in horrified fascination split at the corner of his jaw. Instead of blood, a thick, viscous substance dribbled from the wound and down his neck. An unpleasant odor began to waft toward her. From somewhere a horse screamed, shrill as a woman. Stoner dropped to his knees, eyes locked on the leather thong.

"Adeth...adeth ankah sul--suliman..." his breath came in thick, watery gasps, the odor emanating from him now almost unbearable. From behind him came the heavy, unmistakable sounds of bodies falling to the ground. She wanted to run screaming from this horror show, but the cause of all this destruction held her firm in his mental grasp. "suliman...atress." He took one last, struggling breath, his bony hands clenching mindlessly at the noxious mud he knelt in. A shudder ran through his body and Captain Stoner fell bonelessly forward. She closed her eyes, tears flooding down her cheeks. _Please, let it be over. Oh, please._

"Please." The spoken word wasn't hers. It wasn't much more than a whisper, but her eyes snapped opened and focused on the figure still standing before her. It was the lad who'd been having trouble with his boots. He'd been young, surely no more than sixteen, with a boy's sparse beard and a man's scar running across one cheek. Handsome enough, if you went for the soldierly type.

Now all that was gone. What was left was a shambling horror, staring at her from empty eye sockets. Blood and thicker things ran down his face like tears. He stood awkwardly, like a scare-crow left too long in the fields. "Please," he whispered again. "Please, help me. I can't..." He stopped and just stood there, swaying, for several beats of her pounding heart. "...it hurts..." he said. One blood-smeared hand reached out for her, pleading. A sob tore itself from her throat.

_I'm sorry_. She couldn't even say it aloud, so he would know she was there. So that he would know he wasn't dying alone, unregretted. _I'm so sorry._

_Brat just doesn't want to kick off, does he? Sometimes the young ones are like that. But the strength in them makes it worth the extra time._ Her gaze remained helplessly locked on the young soldier as he finished his dying. At last the boy collapsed, his face turned sightlessly toward the sky. His face contracted in a painful smile. 

"Father?" A soft sigh and he seemed to collapse inward upon himself, the tension draining in a flood. It was over.

_Took him long enough._ The voice wasn't angry, but filled with sick glee. _And the last piece falls into position. Now we have nothing to do but wait._

_Wait for what? _She raged_. They're dead. You _killed_ them._

_All the better to serve me. Serve me and my master, of course. Patience, child. You'll see, soon enough._

_I don't want to see! I don't want to see anything, ever again. Please, just let me go. I won't tell anyone about you, I swear! I don't even know where you're from, or who your master is! Please, I'm just a servant, I'm no threat to you._

_Oh, Emily. I'm hurt_. Invisible fingers caressed her skin knowingly. She gasped and rolled her head back in pleasure even as she squirmed in revulsion. _After all we've been through together? We could have so much more fun together. And we'll have all afternoon to play. My little toys will be rising with the moon, you see, and not a moment sooner._

_Rising? They're _dead_! _

_Exactly, _he replied, as if she'd said something especially clever. _Now, be a good girl and come back. Come back to me, Emily. _She felt the strings of the spell tug at her mind and body. _I really can't afford to leave any lose ends laying about. Especially not with the saintly Forces of Good riding to the rescue at this very moment_. He filled her mind with memories of the night before. _There are so many more things I would teach you, Emily._

"N-n-n-no! NO!!" With an effort that left her throat raw she screamed into the still clearing. "I won't! You DISGUST me! I'll never let you touch me again. Never." The last word came out with quiet, desperate determination. "I'll kill myself first." Stoner's sword lay abandoned at her feet. It would only take a second, two at most, to snatch it up and use it.

_And how do you think you'll manage that?_ The voice was amused, but with a tension underneath that she hadn't heard before.

"Because your control is slipping. I don't know much about magic, but I know that even wizards have to rest. I think you're at the end of your rope, monster."

_Not so close as you'd like to think, sweet Emily. Now stop this foolishness and come away from there. You haven't much time now. Or do you want to be found standing among so many newly dead soldiers? Believe me, you do not wish to risk my master's ire._

"I don't CARE about your master!" She was vaguely aware of how foolish she must look, shouting at a bunch of dead men. His comment that help was on the way gave her unexpected strength. "He's nothing to me! I'm going to tell them everything, and then they'll come after you! I'm going to watch while they take your head, monster!"

_You don't care about my master? Oh, Emily, you wound me_. Anger curled around the edges of his mocking words. _That's only because you haven't been introduced. _Fury and frustration at being balked washed over her in a noxious wave._ Let me repair that oversight._

From somewhere inside her/him a doorway opened. Emily took a breath to scream and the darkness washed over her, clogging her nose and mouth with a thick, viscous mist. The mist swarmed over her mind, dragging her down to whatever whatever was there in the darkness, waiting.

###

Dirk Blackpool swept down the grand staircase, ignoring the looks of the people who quickly stepped aside to let him by. At another time he might have have paused to savor the looks of awe and fear on their faces, for it showed what he already knew: that someday he would rule all of them. The entire continent of Aperans would someday be held in his hands, Greystone and his bunch of weak-minded kinglets broken at his feet.

_Unless... _Doubt slipped in, an unwelcome and uncommon guest. Unless what Vector believed was true, and for once he had no reason to mistrust his wizard. At first it had seemed that this new power was one that he and Vector might turn to their ends. When it became clear that he was a threat to them all, he had briefly entertained the idea of negotiating some sort of truce with Greystone, and through him all of Camerand. This new enemy, should he have armies to back up his magical power, would be a threat almost past imagining to Karteia. With his kingdom's forces already fully involved in the present conflict and supplies seriously depleted after so many years of conflict Karteia would be easy pickings. Better to join forces and stop the new threat before it gains a foothold, letting your old enemy sop up as much of the damage as possible.

_But. _ At the meeting last night it had been apparent that Traquill was hiding something, deliberately misleading and keeping vital information from the room at large. To what purpose? He had to know that Vector would be aware of the deception. Unless he had counted on Vector being unable to be there. Dead, perhaps, at the hands of Traquill's new apprentice. It seemed impossible, but there was no doubt that this new threat was tied to Traquill. Which meant it was tied to the Greystones and Camerand. Which meant that he needed every resource in their possession if Karteia were to survive.

Resources including his worthless younger brother. Nodding to his soldiers outside the door, Dirk pushed the door to the makeshift infirmary open and stepped inside, his eyes automatically sweeping the room for possible threats. The room had been an auxiliary kitchen, and the smell of baked fish still warred with the smells of blood and sickness. The smells of defeat. On both sides of the room were cots, each holding an injured man. None wore the colors of their kingdom, but he could see several men, surely his own, attempting to rise as he entered. He waved them back negligently, his eyes searching for Geoffrey.

"Prince Blackpool." It was the healer from the night before. The man looked tired but reasonably alert. "I have moved your brother back here." He gestured toward the back of the room, where it opened into what appeared to be a servant's dining area. At his raised eyebrow the man continued. "He needed the quiet, and the extra warmth." There was a hearth back there, a fire blazing despite the warmth of the morning.

"He's doing poorly, then?" It would be typical of Geoffrey to die just when he was finally needed.

"Yes," the man said simply. "We can alleviate most of his pain, but the internal damage is much worse than we first thought. Bad enough that I asked for the Wizard Traquill to be summoned this morning."

"No wizard of Camerand is going to--" Dirk began heatedly.

"He won't be," the man overrode him. "I'm told that the Wizard Traquill has left the castle. No one seems to know--"

"What?" Dirk grabbed the man by the shoulders. "Say that again."

"The wizard Traquill left. No one knows when, or why. I attempted to contact King Greystone--one of his own people is in need, as well--but was told that he was unavailable. Obviously we will do all that we can, but until such time as the wizard returns, I cannot guarantee your brother's survival." He paused. "Unless, perhaps, your own wizard? I understand that he arrived last night."

"Not Vector," Dirk replied absently, his mind reeling. "He'll need all of his strength if we are to..." He trailed off. There was no sense in revealing his plans to some lowly Tronin healer. It was a pity about Geoffrey, but life would, after all, go on. He turned to go--Vector needed to hear of this, immediately--only to feel a hand on his arm. Shocked at such a blatant affront, he wheeled to face the healer, who was looking at him without fear.

"My lord. Perhaps I did not make myself clear. _Your brother is dying_. Without magical assistance, I cannot guarantee that he will survive the day. Surely your wizard can--"

"My wizard has better things to do than waste his energy on my misbegotten brother." And misbegotten was right. Despite his lineage, Geoffrey had always been a smaller, weaker shadow of himself, without the spine or the wits to stand up for what was rightfully his. "If the gods have chosen this time to take him, then so be it. My time is best spent elsewhere." And if Traquill had now openly allied himself with their enemy, Vector would have no strength to spare. Jerking free of the man's hand, he turned and strode quickly from the room. Vector must know of this, and quickly.

He had gotten no more than halfway up the stairs when the shriek of Traquill's spell hawk cut through the babble of the Great Hall like a knife. An instant later Vector was at his side, and Dirk was calling to his men. He looked down at his wizard, a thin, tight smile on his face. 

"Time to play."

###

"I don't believe this." Erik looked around the clearing in shocked disbelief. Men lay scattered all around them, dead. There were no signs of battle; it looked as though they had simply dropped in their tracks from some illness or magical attack. And dropped days ago, from the smell and the look of them. He nodded to Captain Carter. "Spread out. See if you can find any survivors. Or signs of who did this."

"Whoever it was, he does nice work." Dirk rode up beside him and dismounted. 

"You approve of this?" Erik gasped.

"Certainly was effective, wasn't it? Though I do wonder who our unknown benefactor is." He looked at Erik through narrowed eyes.

"What are you talking about? Or is this your sick idea of entertainment?"

"Erik, Erik." Dirk shook his head sadly. "Your squeamishness will be the death of you someday. Take a look at those uniforms. I realize that they're rather covered in...things, but it's still clear enough, if you really look."

"What are you--" Erik gave up. Dirk was staring at his smugly. Another few seconds of that and Erik would be wiping the smug look off his face with a well placed blow or two, truce or no. "All right." He looked back, reluctantly.

The scene hadn't gotten any better. Flies had found the bodies, and their steady drone in the mid-day heat was nauseating, as was the smell rising from the corpses. Even the horses were dead, their black hides distended. _Black _ hides. And poking through the rot and decay, traces of black tunics and trousers. On one body silver glinted. Erik stepped toward it and bent down, holding his breath. A silver dragon, wings extended, glittered through the rotted blood.

"Deerborne's men." He sighed. "But who would--unless, Vector...?" Dirk's pet wizard was strolling through the carnage, his face a mask.

"This was none of my doing," the wizard replied. "Though I will admit that I admire his style, whoever he is."

"Yeah, I guess that is the question. I wonder--"

"Sire!" It was Carter, walking toward them. Behind him, held between two of their soldiers, was a woman. "We found this woman lurking nearby. It would appear that she witnessed the attack."

"A witness! Well, bring her forward, man. A witness is just what we need right now," Dirk ordered imperatively.

Carter looked from Blackpool to Erik, raising his eyebrows. Erik clenched his jaw and nodded. No matter how grave the situation, Dirk never failed to get on your nerves. The Captain gestured and stepped aside as the two men brought the woman forward.

She was fairly young, and dressed like a castle servant. Her dress was coated with mud, and her long blond hair had fallen from her bun to obscure her pale face. At the soldier's rough warning she dropped an awkward curtsey before lifting her head to stare up at him. Erik took an unthinking step backward, his hand going instinctively for his sword. He was staring into the face of madness. Beside him he heard Dirk's soft oath of surprise.

"Tra-la-la-la-la, and the white knights appear. Always with their trumpets blaring, always," she faltered, her mad eyes gleaming with dark knowledge, one filthy hand twirling a strand of limp blond hair, "always too late. Too late." She whirled around, startling the guards, but made no move to flee or attack. Instead she reached out and gestured at one of the rotted lumps before them. "Too late, little lad." Her laugh was like broken glass. "But they'll do as he says, oh yes. Oh yes." She whirled again, this time to stand bare inches from Erik, her eyes wide. "But they'll do as he says," she assured Erik solemnly, her eyes still whirling feverishly. "We all do as he says. Because he he has the power, his is the master who will, who will...

"Spiders!" She shrieked suddenly, and out of the corner of his eye Erik saw Dirk jump. "They run up and down your skin like fire, inside your mind, bringing death and decay and a filth that can't be cleaned away. It can't! It just grows and grows and then he looks at you and his eyes, his eyes..." she broke off, laughing and weeping, her hands clawing at her arms and face. "Mes ankah, mes suliman, the dead will dance again. Mes--" she stopped in mid-word, her eyes so wide that it looked like they must fall from their sockets.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this. They're all _dead_." A shriek of laughter and she collapsed, falling bonelessly to the mud and filth at their feet. Carter stepped forward and reached for her, then shook his head.

"She's dead, Prince Greystone."

###

"I think she's dying."

"Nah, she ain't gonna die. Are you, Tess?" Justin smoothed pale blond hair away from an even paler forehead, feeling the quick, frightened beat of her heart thumping against his chest. The boy Gregory was kneeling next to them, his foster parents standing in the doorway, clutching each other, their eyes wide with fear.

"She ain't? I dunno, she ain't never taken on like that before. Mayhap she's got come down with some kinda croup or somethin," the boy said nervously. Some folks got all uptight and serious under stress. Apparently the boy dropped back into the language of his home village when things got bad. To each his own.

And things were bad, never mind what he'd just told them. He'd known that much since he'd first heard her scream. He and Erik had been tearing down the stairs after that spell hawk when her cry had cut through the castle noise like a knife. He'd found her like this, barely breathing, her skin as pale as death. Only her eyes seemed to move, watching something terrible that only her blind eyes could see. He'd scooped her up and she'd stopped screaming, but that was about it.

"...mes al..." 

"Tessa, you say somethin'?" 

"Mes ankah, mes suliman..."

At the strange words a cramp of pain lanced through Justin's gut. Magic, no doubt about it. But it was the next words which really chilled him.

"Petrifo can s...can s--oh, they're dead. They're all dead."

"Dead? Who's dead, Tessa?" He shook her none too gently, realizing that he'd let Erik go charging off to battle evil without him. Again. Had this been that very rare time when his "little" brother actually needed him? "Who's dead, Tessa?"

"They're falling where they stand. Oh, it's horrible" She twisted in his arms, unhearing. "Why? Why is he doing it? They're his own...oh, please no. It hurts...

"Father?" A deep shudder and Tessa lie still.

"Tess?"

###

"What is that awful smell? I swear, some people just can't keep a castle properly aired. You'd think with all the money he spends on draperies and such foolishness the man could at least..." Kira trailed off, an action that scared the scullery maid accompanying her badly. Everyone knew that Kira kept up a monologue all day long. It was sort of soothing, really. Now the chatter had stopped, and the scullery made took a prudent step backward. Whatever was in the unused suite was undoubtedly something she'd want no part of.

"Mora." Kira caught her wrist in a grip like a vise before the scullery maid had gone two steps.

"Let go of me," Mora whined. "I'm just a servant. I want no part of whatever trouble these visiting royals have--"

"You'll shut up and do exactly what I say!" Kira whirled and looked fiercely at the younger girl. "I want you to find Jerome, or whoever is head servant here. Tell him to come right away, and to bring one of the castle guards. Right away, do you understand? Stop to gossip along the way and so help me I'll beat you senseless."

"You've no call to speak to me like that!" Mora rubbed at her wrist, already backing away. "I'll complain to the mistress about you, so I will."

"I don't care if you complain to the King himself as long as you do it _later_! Now, go!" Kira made impatient shooing gestures and the scullery made scuttled away, muttering indignant complaints under her breath.

Kira sighed in exasperation and turned to look back into the room. Could she have been wrong? If she was, she was in for a beating, no two ways about it. But, lowly guest servant or no, she had to make someone see this. Holding herself tightly by the arms, Kira edged into the room.

It was plain and unadorned, with broken shutters and a crack in the roof that explained why it wasn't in use. Except that it had been, and recently. The bed linens were rumpled, and a half-empty glass of wine stood abandoned on the dresser table. Abandoned, most likely, by whoever had managed to burn himself to a crisp without catching so much as a rug on fire. Stepping carefully to avoid the smoking remains, Kira opened both sets of shutters as wide as possible. The stench was almost overpowering. It was what had drawn her to the room in the first place, and now she wished she'd been just a little less fastidious about doing her duty. Her stomach roiled, and she turned to face the window and the courtyard below, waiting for the arrival of someone who would know what to make of this terrible mess.

###

"Justin, he meant to do that! Meant it at surely as I know my own name!" Tessa clung to his tunic, her face set and determined. She was awake and back to her senses, but still not making much sense.

"Easy, now. I believe you. But it just don't add up. Why would Deerborne kill his own men? What's he gonna fight us with now? Harsh words?" Well, a wizard did do just that, kind of, but they'd already beaten off the best Deerborne could conjure up, hadn't they? "The point is, without his soldiers to back him up, the guy's just not that much of a threat. Not with Vector around, and Traquill coming back any time." Or so he devoutly hoped. And who would have ever thought that he'd be grateful for that snake Vector's presence?

"I…I just don't know. All I can tell you is that he meant to do it, he planned it. Why would he do it if it wasn't going to help him?" The tension ran out of her in a flood and she sagged against him. 

"Hey, the day either of us understands what's inside a wizard's head is the day I become a monk." He tapped the tip of her nose playfully. "And you known how likely that is." He let the teasing gesture turn into a caress of her cheek.

She smiled wanly and covered his hand with hers. "Pigs will fly first. All right. Maybe I'm wrong." She didn't sound like she believed it, and neither did he. Something bad was coming, he felt it in his gut. Generally that meant the imminent arrival of somebody's mad-on husband. But the last time he'd gotten a hunch like this… He bent and kissed her forehead.

Back to business. "Tell you what. I'll go talk to Erik soon as he gets back. Tell him we ought ta keep some extra guards on watch, just in case." That felt better, but not great. "Maybe I'll even find a way to see what Vector says. You never know—I hear he tells the truth once a year. And if anyone knows about black magic, it's Vector."

"Wizards." She shook her head. "We'd be better off if they'd all take a flying leap off the Cliffs of Insanity."

"Yeah, but do you wanna be the one to suggest it?" At her quick head shake he grinned. "Now, why don't you go get yourself cleaned up? Day's not getting any younger, and seems to me somebody's got a performance tonight." He stood and helped her to her feet.

"You're certainly determined to see this play of ours. Are entertainments in Camerand really that hard to come by?" She brushed off her skirts and smiled at him teasingly.

"I just want ta see you crowned, 'Evana'." Guy's got to have some goals in life."

She wrinkled her nose in mock horror. "I really think you ought to raise your goals, Prince Justin."

"I'll take that under advisement. But for tonight, why don't you just indulge me. Going to be a lot of people in need of something to keep their minds of what's been happening." And it would make protecting them that much easier, too. He'd seen the reinforcements going up in the main hall as he passed by earlier. If stone and sword could protect them from Deerborne and his master, that would.

"I suppose you're right. You're a very persistent fellow, you know. Has anyone told you that?" 

"Something you ought to remember. I'm thinkin' you owe me a kiss, making me miss catching up with the spell and all." He took a step forward and put his hands on her narrow hips, pleased to see how much better she was doing.

"Owe you?! And there was nothing to miss! They got there too late, I told you that. Oh, just get out of here." Blushing, Tessa pulled away and pushed him toward the door. "Don't you have work to do?"

"I'm going, I'm going. Though I've gotta tell you, I don't usually get pushed out of a lady's room like this. Least, not so soon." He caught her arm and pulled her close as if to kiss her.

"Justin!"

"All right. I know when I'm not wanted." He turned away with a heavy sigh and headed for the door, Talmor and Martha stepping quickly out of his way, their expressions trapped between worry and amusement.

"Justin?" He turned. The laughter was gone, and she was biting her lip. "You will tell them? Even if it means telling about me? There are so many lives at stake. If he should attack again..." She was standing where he'd left her, wringing her hands.

"I will." He walked back to her and kissed her lightly. "And don't you worry about your secret. I said I'd keep it, and I meant it. Trust me?"

She nodded. "And probably a fool for doing so. Just...be careful. I have a feeling that something terrible is coming." She touched her cheek briefly.

"Not on my watch." With a nod to Talmor and Martha Justin turned and quickly left, his mind racing. Save the girl. Save the kingdom. Save Aperans. This was really more Erik's line of work, when you thought about it. _Now I remember why I always avoid sticking my nose into trouble. Guy'll grow old before his time, worrying about stuff like this._

Too late now.

###

"So it was an accident, then." Richard Greystone pursed his lips thoughtfully, his gaze going from Erik and Blackpool to Vector and back again. None of them looked pleased, but no one had a better explanation, either. "This Deerborne simply bit off more than he could chew, so to speak." Erik and he had joined Dirk Blackpool in the Blackpool suites at Dirk's request. The news had been better than he'd been expecting.

"It is possible," Vector allowed grudgingly. "Certainly the forces this...man uses are unpredictable at best. Most prudent wizards wouldn't use them at all. And the words the servant girl used were undeniably necromantic magic."

"And you have personal experience with conjurings going awry, don't you, Vector?" Dirk's voice was bland, but all of them remembered Vulkar, and a certain rainy night at Castle Baaldorf. Erik had explained to him just how the wizard had conjured him to kill one person--supposedly Dirk himself--and how Vector had lost control of his creature. The mistake had nearly cost all of them their lives.

"It happens to all of us, milord. Even the very best are not immune. Magic is not without its risks." The look Vector shot his prince would have curdled milk. "And this Deerborne isn't--_wasn't_ even a wizard."

They all looked at the small bundle of scorched clothing piled on the table. It matched Ariel's description of Deerborne's attire, and had been found in a supposedly unused stateroom along with a curious burnt-out blue crystal. Vector had confirmed that it was a scrying device, much like the one Deerborne had possessed. The smell of burnt flesh had drawn a servant's attention, and the find had been waiting for the boys when they had finally come back.

"So that's it, then?" Dirk's voice was thick with scorn. "We just put it all behind us, and go on like nothing happened. My own brother lies dying--oh, you might want to see about that, Vector--and we're just going to pretend it never happened?"

"I didn't say that." Despite his own frustration Richard almost smiled. Dirk certainly knew just how to push all of Erik's buttons. Even now his eldest son looked ready to hand the Blackpool prince some rough lessons in courtesy with his bare hands. If Erik could ever learn to let Dirk's baiting slide off his skin he'd be halfway to finding a way to beat the man. Something he could learn from-- "Where is Justin, by the way? I thought you said no one was hurt, Erik."

"_We_ weren't. But Justin...never made it out there."

"Ran off chasing a skirt at the first sign of trouble," Dirk added helpfully. "Quite a son you've got there, Greystone."

"I think so, thank you. Now, Erik, what do you..."

"Somebody miss me?" They all turned to see Justin, leaning casually against the door frame and smiling unconcernedly. "Thought I heard my name mentioned."

"Yes. We were just discussing wayward sons. Ones that were never taught the meaning of words like honor. _Duty_."

"Nice to see you too, Dirk. That chafing problem of yours any better?"

"Erik was just telling me that you missed their little meeting with Deerborne's men," Richard said firmly.

"Well, with what's left of them, anyway," Erik replied dryly.

"Thank you, Erik. Justin?" Richard wasn't going to be distracted.

"You know, I was on my way out there, right behind old Erik. And then, the funniest thing happened." Justin ambled into the room and Picked an apple from the untouched tray of food that stood near the main table. Pulling out his dagger, he began to casually peel the fruit, smiling easily. 

"A pretty girl walked by," Erik guessed.

"No, not exactly, Erik. In fact, I'm surprised you didn't hear it. You're the one likes to go around rescuing fair maidens and all." At a look from his father Justin continued hastily. "I heard somebody scream. A _lady_," he allowed. "Thought maybe we were under some kind of two-pronged attack, like that time on Ruby Ridge when--"

"Justin."

"Well, turned out it wasn't nothing like that. But it could have been." He tossed a slice of apple into his mouth.

"Thank you, Justin." Richard turned back to the table. Vector hadn't joined in the discussion, and was still staring thoughtfully at the remains. "Is there any way to determine for certain that this is Deerborne?"

"Possibly. A proper magical examination of the body will tell us for certain, but it takes time. Hours, possibly days, in my current weakened condition." The wizard frowned, as if not wanted to reveal the slightest vulnerablity.

"Then you'd better start now. The sooner that we can confirm that it's--"

"Hang on now. Did I say I was finished?" Justin elbowed in between Erik and his father to look at what was on the table. "Nice. There's a fella that likes his barbeque just a little too much. Anyway, like I was saying--"

"Justin, we don't have time--"

"Look, Erik, you may think that you're the brains of this operation, but I'm telling you, this time you're flat-out wrong." Justin's normal brother-baiting was tinged with something that sounded suspiciously like real anger.

"Am I? Oh, gee, I'm sorry. I thought you abandoned your duty to go chasing some girl. _Again_. While we went out and figured out what was going on without any help from you. You know, I like a good time as much as the next guy, but sometimes you really--" Erik turned to face his brother, his jaw clenched. They were almost nose to nose, neither willing to back down.

"Why don't you get off your high-n-mighty throne and listen for half a second?"

"Why should I?" Erik, already on edge from Blackpool's baiting, replied with rising heat. "Everyone knows that the only things you think about are wine, gambling, and where you'll get your next skirt. Every time I need you, you're nowhere to be found. The only thing you're good for is backup in case something happens to me!"

There was a sudden rush of silence.

"And you want to know why I'm never around. Nice to finally have it out in the open, Erik."

"Justin, I didn't mean--"

"Sure you did. Heck, I'd probably say the same thing, our places were reversed." Justin's face was devoid of any trace of humor. Richard felt his stomach do a slow roll. He thought he managed to raise his sons without the usual acrimony between brothers when one would be the heir and the other would not. Apparently he hadn't succeeded as well as he'd thought.

"Still so very pleased with your sons, King Greystone?" Dirk was sitting at the head of the table, his chin propped on one hand. "I must say, they certainly do a father proud."

"Shut up, Dirk," he replied absently. "Erik, Justin, this isn't the time--"

"You're right. You've got important plannin' to do. I'll just head back to the tavern, let you folks get on with it." Justin started away from Erik with uncustomary anger. He'd gotten to the door before Richard spoke.

"Justin." Just one word. His younger son stopped, but didn't turn.

"Yes sir."

"I believe you wanted to tell us something."

Justin turned, his mouth a thin line. He shook his head, then relented. "Yeah, I did. You ain't gonna believe this, but the spell that killed Deerborne's men was no accident."

"What?" Erik asked.

"You know. The one you went charging off to stop when Traquill's spell hawk went off. The one that was long over by the time you got there. _ That one_. It wasn't any accident. Deerborne planned it."

"He planned to kill his own soldiers. How could you possibly know--" Erik began.

"I'm listening, Justin." Richard gestured for him to continue.

"And so am I. What makes you such an expert in the black arts, Prince Justin?" Vector's eyes were narrow slits.

"I ain't. But I know it was intended to happen the way it did. And I'm betting that that's not him you've got piled up there on the table, either."

"But how could you--" Erik tried again.

"Well, Erik, I got it from this cute little fortune teller in one of those taverns I'm always in. What difference does it make? _I know it_. And if you weren't so all-fired hot to have this tied up nice and neat, you'd listen to me. But then, I'm just that worthless younger brother, ain't I?"

"Justin, I didn't mean--"

"Oh, the hell you didn't." He turned to his father. "You want to keep our people safe, sir, you double the guard. Triple it. And Dirk, keep your pet wizard awake tonight, will ya? Hard as it may be to believe, even _he_ might prove useful. Something's going to happen, and I'll bet it happens soon. You want to be the big hero, Erik, you do something about that. Me, I'm going to go have a drink. That's what I always do, right?" Without another word Justin turned and walked out, slamming the heavy wooden door behind him.

"I don't think I've every fully appreciated my own dear brother before today," Dirk said into the sudden quiet. "Vector, you really must go see to him."

Vector frowned, then nodded reluctantly. "As you command, my lord."

"And Vector?"

"Yes, my lord?"

"I think you can do without your beauty sleep tonight, don't you?"

"Yes, my lord. I most certainly can."

**End of Part Five**

**Part Six Coming Soon!**


	6. Chapter Six

_Author's Note_: Some minor changes have been made to chapter five. You don't have to read it again to understand what's happening here, but you might enjoy it.. _--Janice_

Chapter Six 

"That couldn't have gone better if I'd planned it. How eager they are to swear fealty when our enemy shows his true colors." Dirk Blackpool nodded to the servants, who were waiting to clear away the finely carved table that dominated the meeting room he'd commandeered. They scurried around quickly then bowed and left, taking the remains of the late midday meal with them. He allowed a small, satisfied smile to cross his lips, one hand going to caress his monocle as he turned to face his wizard.

"To be sure. You have the full support of the barony, something you haven't enjoyed in quite some time." Vector also smiled, curling his thin lips into an expression tinged with mockery. "Of course, that is because you now control the only hope of their salvation. Without me, your power would not be anywhere near so secure. Nor would your life." He sank into the well padded chair at the head of the table with a sigh of pleasure. "Now, if you don't mind, I need to rest."

"I see madness among wizards is contagious." Dirk spoke in a low, even voice that immediately got his wizard's attention. He caressed his monocle, causing it to glow from within with crackling blue energies. "The Council would be very interested to hear your definition of the wizard-royalty relationship. You exist only to serve me." He leaned over the wizard's shoulder and gestured with the monocle. Power ran across his skin like icy water and Vector writhed in pain. Dirk wasn't sure how it worked, but results were what mattered, weren't they?

"You need me." Vector spoke the words through gritted teeth. The statement was true enough, and the refresher lesson apparently clearly received. Dirk released the monocle and Vector collapsed back against the chair with a sigh. "And I wouldn't presume the Council's support, if I were you," Vector snarled when he could catch his breath. "You are no more in their good graces than I."

"Shocking." Dirk sat down on the edge of the table, looming over his wizard. "But seeing as the Council refuses to interfere in the affairs of mortals, it scarcely matters, does it? And Bethel doesn't seem to share your concerns."

"Bethel has plans of her own." He frowned at that. "She should have been here by now."

"She will be. Let's just hope that Deerborne doesn't attack before the two of you can manage to set up this protection spell of yours. I have no desire to experience another night like the last."

"You won't," Vector reassured him. "Between Bethel and I together are more than a match for Deerborne, and Traquill's apprentice has yet to make an appearance."

"Mmm. Nor has the good wizard Traquill himself. That worries me."

"As it should," Vector agreed. "But Traquill and his apprentice are prohibited from directly attacking those of royal blood. Those of true importance will be safe enough. And whatever Deerborne attempts will roll harmlessly off of our wardings only to fall on our enemies from the south."

"Who, thanks to us, now believe that the danger is over. A nice touch, that. And you didn't even have to lie."

"No, my lord. Saying that, after much examination, it did appear that the body in question was master Deerborne's is nothing but the bare, unvarnished truth. The body did _appear_ to be his. It was intended to, after all." Vector smiled. "It was not, but I see no reason to share all of our knowledge, do you?"

"Not in the slightest. The fools are undoubtedly bringing their soldiers off of the walls as we speak, leaving Tronin's pathetic little peacocks to protect them. One enemy will devour the other, while we escape, unscathed." Dirk turned to walk to the window, where sure enough, many of the soldiers and knights brought by the Camarand contingent were leaving their posts. Peasants scurried about like flies, and the Tournament flag had been raised again over the main castle. "Fools."

"Indeed." Vector leaned forward, resting his head on his hands in an exaggerated show of exhaustion. "Now, by your leave, my lord…?"

"Mmm? Oh, yes. Of course, Vector. By all means, get some rest." The wizard nodded and started to rise. "Oh, there is one more thing." Vector sat back down with a sigh. "This royal witch that was supposedly the cause of Deerborne's visit. Does she even exist? Anyone they pursue so diligently might be of use to us, as well."

"It is…possible. But highly unlikely. I wouldn't trouble yourself, my lord." Vector started to rise, and Dirk pushed him roughly back down into his seat.

"Trouble me. What is it you're hiding this time?"

"It is unlikely in the extreme that such a creature is what brought them here. Despite what most fools will tell you, there's no harm in mixing royal blood and mortal "cauldron" magics. That is no more dangerous than common cauldron spells performed by a commoner, which is to say not at all." Vector snorted in derision.

"Go on."

"The other alternative is…disturbing. Even Bethel would not dare to try it, for all her desire to be your queen. And we would have seen the consequences long before now, should it have occurred elsewhere. No," he held up his hand as Dirk leaned in to urge him on. "I will tell you no more, Prince Blackpool. As I said before, even your ambitions must know some limitations. This is one of them."

"Vector." Warning now.

"There are some rules even I will not break." There was a dull green flash of light and Vector was gone, leaving Dirk to ponder his last words. It wasn't like Vector to be so squeamish.

A power so great as to make a wizard blanche? This would require some thought.

A great deal of it, perhaps.

###

"That could have gone better." Marko rolled his shoulders and popped his neck, flinching. "Man, I hate long meetings."

"Especially ones that go like that one did," Erik agreed. With effort his kept his smile in place and courteously bowed his head as several women of the Stormhold royal family swept by. Two of them had been _very_ friendly when he'd first arrived, but he could feel the ice baking off of them now. Once they passed he sighed heavily. "They did everything but come out and accuse us of starting the whole thing! This is crazy!"

"At least it's over now. Though I'd feel better if we knew where Uncle Trae went," Marko said glumly.

"Yeah. They _really_ didn't like that. I know he's not involved. You know he's not involved. But this wasn't exactly the best time for him to pull a disappearing act, you know?" The old wizard had gone after their warlock enemy, his father was certain. And the longer he was gone, the more they all feared that he'd come out on the losing end of the confrontation, as unbelievable as that was. "Man, I hope he comes back soon."

"Me, too. And you know what really gets me? Vector. That slimeball sharing information with us. Acting like some kind of kindly old wizard instead of like the scaly--no. Calling him a snake is an insult to the snake." Marko nodded in the direction of Michael's tavern. "Come on. Let's go wash the bad taste out of our mouths."

"I don't know. There's still stuff I should do." He looked at the gates, where soldiers were even now being dismissed. "And I really don't like this."

"You can hardly blame them. I mean, what did we have? Justin blew in, says that's not the guy, blows right back out. At least Vector's a wizard, even if soured milk won't get too close to him. And that guy Deerborne's soldiers are really, sincerely dead. Imagine the poor guys who had to bury _that_." Marko shuddered.

"I know," Erik agreed. "But, I mean, Justin wouldn't just make up something like that. Not without good reason." He bit his lip. Justin hadn't returned when the other rulers had arrived for Vector's report and the Camarand meeting following it, nor was he malingering outside.

"Maybe it's just a new girl," Marko offered. "You know what he can be like. Remember when he went crazy over that Carlotta whats-her-name? The logger's daughter with the really enormous--"

"I remember," Erik said hastily.

"He was all set to renounce his title and run away with her. They were going to be trappers, I think." Marko shook his head. "How long did that last? A month?"

"He was only sixteen!"

"And he's matured so much since then." At Erik's look Marko nodded sheepishly. "Okay, some. But I'd be willing to bet you a barrel of ale that he's just gotten caught up with some fortune teller. Some of them can convince you of anything."

"Sounds like you're speaking from personal experience," Erik said with a grin.

"Who, me? Nah." At Erik's look he shrugged sheepishly and continued. "Well, just once. She told me that the number three horse was a shoe-in. And he said he was hot, so I believed her. Lost a lot of money on that one."

"And the horse?"

"Oh, he got hot, all right. His owner--who was first cousin to the fortune teller--was so mad that he had him barbecued after the race." He shivered. "Not much of a retirement plan."

"I guess not." There really wasn't much you could say to something like that.

"Anyway, why don't we go have a drink at Michael's? Just one. It'll help you relax."

"That I could use." He ran one hand through his hair. Still hadn't gotten that haircut. "Okay. One. Then I've got to see to the security for tonight. That many royal families in one place would be a nice, juicy, target. And it's going to be just our people on patrol, with King Tronin's keeping watch from the walls. I don't think even King Baaldorf is sending out his soldiers."

"They are tired," Marko pointed out. "Most of them haven't had any sleep in more than a day."

"I know, I know. And it's probably for nothing. But I just can't shake the feeling that something's wrong. Justin never acts like that. I mean, we actually had a fight. I can't remember the last time that happened." He looked up at the sky. "Maybe it's a full moon." But the sky, while clear and full of stars, had only the bare sliver of a moon showing.

"Which is reason number two for heading to Michael's." Marko clapped a hand on Erik's shoulder, leading his friend in the direction of music, laughter, and ale. "You want to find out what's up with Justin? I know just the place to find him."

###

"This isn't going to work." Tessa gave an exasperated sigh and ran her hands down the heavy folds of unfamiliar fabric. "It's impossible." They'd been at this for what felt like hours, her nerves thrumming tighter with every passing minute. Soon she'd just snap like an over-wound lute string, and that would be that.

"The fabric is fine. By the time I'm done with it, no one will ever suspect it started out life as some noble's mildewed tapestry." Martha began humming again, tugging the waistband of the dress so tight Tessa wondered how she'd ever be able to speak, much less sing, in what was sure to be a disastrous performance.

"With a side trip to the stables. Ow!"

"Stop moving about and you won't get stuck. And it wasn't the stables. It was the storage area above the stables. Now will you hold still?" Martha gave one wrist a sharp tug and Tessa forced herself to be still. The truth be told, the fabric _was_ quite nice, and hardly smelt of the stables at all. It was far better than what they'd planned on her wearing as Evana, and so her she stood, the performance mere hours away, with Martha sticking her with pins and Talmor changing the play minute by minute. And him expecting her to memorize every change and perform it perfectly from the first beat, of course.

"Quiet in the audience, please. Now, Tess, don't forget the changes in the last act. Remember, we're going to drop Queen Evanda's requiem down an octave to emphasize her grief at the loss of her husband." Talmor hummed a refrain in demonstration. "Not quite as angry at the Duke's betrayal as we'd planned. She's wavering, willing to give it all up. Just as many in our audience are no doubt battling with despair themselves."

"And she finds the strength to pursue her husband's wish that she rule. Right up until the Duke of Montrey poisons her." Tessa made a face like she'd just swallowed a draught of the stuff herself. "I'll _remember_, Talmor. Ow! Martha, could you please leave me with enough blood left to perform tonight?"

"Somebody's got the gitters." Gregory, of course. He'd been thumping in and out of their fancy quarters all afternoon, nearly bouncing with excitement. "Come on, Tess. nobody passed the first row'll know it's a horse blanket. Well, the first three, anyhow."

"That's enough, Gregory." Martha tugged at the skirt and took a step back. From the sound of it she'd turned to face their youngest troupe member. "And it's not a horse blanket. I'm to gather from that smile that you've got your new lines properly memorized? No? Then off with you, you impudent boy. Nightfall will be here before you know it. And don't forget to set the tea and honey to heating. We'll all be needing it tonight." She settled back on her stool with a sigh.

"The lad does have a point, Tessa. You've been acting like a novice musician before her first solo. Or a bride on her wedding night," she added with a chuckle. "Could be I know what's got you so distracted."

"Martha!" Tessa sighed in exasperation. "Didn't you say you taught me better? I am not besotted with that royal playboy. I'm just...unsettled."

"They won't string us up, Tessa, if that's what you're afraid of." Talmor's rich tenor reached her from across the room. "Oh, one of the nobility might, or possibly one of the minor princes out in the baronies, that's true enough. But the real power rests here, and I doubt any of _ them_ are so insecure in their power as to be threatened by any tale we could tell. Though some of them might mislike it considerably." He chuckled. "And at least this bunch is unlikely to throw spoilt fruit."

"I hope you're right." She rubbed her hands up and down her arms as if she'd caught a chill. "But I wish they weren't going to have us at all." She bit her lip, thinking of Martha. Their performance was still the best way to ensure themselves a position for the winter. "After all that's happened, you'd think amusements would be the last thing on their minds. And with things yet so uncertain..."

"From the rumors I've heard, everyone seems to think things are over. I've seen fewer and fewer men on the walls, this hour past. And, after so much tension, everyone needs some sort of release." She could hear the smile in his voice. "Even royalty."

Tessa felt the blood rush from her head, leaving her light headed. "Wait-- They think it's over? How-- I don't understand. Justin said he'd tell them, make them understand. They can't possibly--" her voice was rising, and she bit off what she was about to say as Martha took her in her arms.

"I know. But Tessa, love, knowing the future has never been your gift. Only the gods know what is meant to be. Isn't it possible that the shock of those horrible creatures last night has made you fear things that aren't real? It would be perfectly understandable. You've never used your gifts much, and for very good reason, I might add. Why trust those gifts now?" Martha rubbed her back soothingly. "Coming to a big city for the first time, wizards and royals running about, catching the eye of a certain prince...it's a lot for a young woman to deal with. Especially with such an important performance on the horizon.

"Others wiser than we have decided that there is no threat. Let it go, Tessa darling. Just let it go." The older woman pushed a stray strand of hair behind Tessa's ear and patted her cheek.

It sounded perfectly reasonable. And it would be wonderful to believe that the horror was finally over. "I wish I could. But there's something on the wind. Something unnatural, full of pain and...madness." She gave a short laugh. "I sound like Journeyman Craig, wringing his hands and moaning about the end of the world, don't I?" It was one of their most popular plays in the smaller towns, the story of a junior official who fussed and bothered so he finally turned into a tadmon.

"But I can't deny what I feel. Whatever these gifts are, they've gotten so much stronger. I can feel things I never could before," Tessa gently pulled free of Martha and went to the window, hoping that the fresh breeze would clear her mind. Behind her Martha and Talmor exchanged a worried glance. "...see things in my mind's eye. All of it tells me that something terrible waits just beyond the horizon." Something that Justin couldn't--or hadn't--warned those "wiser minds" of.

"Do you want to leave?" Talmor asked quietly. "Gregory was asking around about the possibility. There is a way, he thinks. It would mean leaving the wagon, but..." He trailed off. "It's up to you, Tess. We've kept safe from their kind for some ten years. We can do it again."

It was tempting. Ten long years of denying what she was, ten years of running from some unknown danger. Ten years of playing it _safe_. It was a habit grown very hard to break. But what had Justin said? _"How long have you been running, Tess? When are you going to stop? _

"I," the words caught in her throat, and not because of the tightness of her dress. "I think you should go. Now, before it's too late."

"Without you." Talmor's voice held an unfamiliar edge of anger. "So that's it. The poor little minstrel girl has been found out. Now she must throw herself upon the dagger, nobly preserving kith and kin while dying a dramatic and graceful martyr's death. Is that how you have your play written, girl?"

"No." She sounded tired, even in her own ears. "But I am tired of running. And even if this warlock did not _ come_ here for me, he certainly searches for me now. I can feel it." She rubbed at her arms again, which did nothing to help the chill shooting down her spine. "If I run, he'll only find me again, hurting anyone who stands in his way. This must end _here_." The calm quiet in her own voice surprised her.

"But Tess--" Martha sounded near tears. "You can't fight a wizard. He'll kill you as simple as snapping his fingers."

"Will he?" Her fingers tightened on the stone window sill, turning her knuckles white with effort. She nodded. "He might. But I've got gifts that he values. Gifts that were powerful enough to destroy his spell creature last night. If he wants me, let him come. Perhaps--" her lips were numb with fear, making her words stumble, "perhaps it will be he who'll find out he's bitten off more than he can chew." The realization that it was she who had called the lightnings last night was still new in her mind, both terrifying and somehow exciting. To be free of the fear that had hounded her for as long as she could remember, even if it meant using her "forbidden" talents, seemed worth any risk. She took a deep breath, and when the words came out they sure and determined.

"It's time I take a stand." Once spoken, the words seem to cloak her in a cool calm. She smiled brightly, and turned around to face Martha and Talmor. "But he'll have to wait. _We _have a performance to do." They talked on lightly of the night to come, but the small, cool look of speculation never left Tessa's eyes.

_Any risk. Any risk at all._

###

Being a knight's squire wasn't bad work, most of the time. Oh, it was hard work, all right. He'd been only eight when he'd been accepted as Sir Hewe's squire, and the first two tendays had been pure agony. Care for his knight's horse, clean and polish his armor, clean and repair his horse's saddle, bridle, and armor, and then see to the man's personal needs. All the gods help him if a tunic was torn and not swiftly repaired, or a message not delivered timely enough! But, looking back as a much older and wiser nine year old, he could say that it all had been worth it.

Not for the pay, which was small compared to the least of the castle servants. It was enough to send his mum a few delts or maybe even a kolna or two each year, but that just meant better food on her table, not fancy gowns and a fancy home for his mum, like she deserved. It wasn't even for the acknowledgement by his placement as squire that he was the bastard son of a nobleman, and so heir in some small way to their honorable lines. Others of pure noble blood were here as well, proving themselves as squires before gaining the title of knight that was theirs by birth.

It was worth it for a stupid reason, or so said the boys from his village. It was worth it for times like this. Staring into Sir Hugh's wall mirror, Darrell tugged his jerkin down over his full-sleeved tunic, the bottom of which had been tucked into nearly-new dark blue trousers. He wore the colors of the Kingdom of Baaldorf, and stood by his knight's side to protect those who couldn't protect themselves. That was why all his hard work was worth it. Someday, if the gods were kind, he would be a knight himself, and protect his kingdom's people from things like the ones that had attacked them last night, and from more traditional enemies like the villains from Karteia. He checked the looseness of the short sword in its sheath. On the field he would have held a lance, but tonight, unless more of those Hell Hounds appeared, a blade would do.

"Gods above, lad, you're as vain as a woman twice your age." Sir Hugh walked into the room, as quiet as a mouse for all the armor he wore. His voice was kindly enough, but a deep frown was etched into his face. Hugh ruffled his hair and strode for his narrow bed, on which he negligently tossed his belt, sword, sheath, and all. "A pity it's all for naught."

"For nothing?" Without thinking about it Darrell picked up the belt and carefully hung it from the headboard, where Sir Hugh might easily find it in the night. "Has something happened?"

"Nothing's happened, and that's the trouble." Hugh poured himself a glass of wine, something he never did before battle. "We're standing down, lad."

"What!??" Quickly Darrell modified his tone. "But sir, I don't understand. At the Great Hall they said--"

"--one thing, and now they say another." The knight sighed. "The wizard Vector, whom I trust less than a rabid badger, tells us that the body found does not belong to this 'warlock' of theirs. And with Deerborne's soldiers dead, our wise rulers have decided that we need no longer worry." He shook his head. "I'd die for our king, Darrell, but sometimes I do wish the man had more battle experience. We don't know what assets our enemy may yet have--or if Traquill must now be counted among them."

"He hasn't retuned yet?" The idea of the venerable Traquill betraying them seemed beyond belief.

"No. And despite this, we are freed of our assigned duties and invited to join in tonight's entertainments." With a grunt of displeasure Hewe lay back on the bed. "I suppose I might as well get as much rest as I can. I have a feeling this thing's not done yet." He closed his eyes and almost immediately opened them again. "I would suggest the same for you, Darrell, but I remember what it was like to be your age. Go out and explore, play with the other lads. Forget about being a squire for a few hours."

"I'll never forget that," Darrell said quietly.

"I know." Sir Hewe smiled affectionately. "You're a good lad, boy. But go out for a while. Have fun. Eat a pastry or two, practice your swordplay. Wooden blades only," he warned. Then Hewe closed his eyes, and an instant later appeared to be deeply asleep. It was a talent all soldiers acquired, he claimed. Darrell was pretty sure the knight was shamming, but had never worked up the nerve to test his theory. With a quiet sigh he padded out of the small room they shared and down the corridor, where he was joined by other squires. They poured out into the afternoon sunshine, grateful for the reprieve from their heavy loads and eager to play.

###

Michael's ale tasted just as good as it always did, and the rough laughter of men playing cards was nice enough. So was the pair of minstrels singing a bunch of drinking songs he hadn't heard before. Always keep your mind open for new things, that was what his father was always saying.

His father. Not an road he wanted to go down right now. Taking a drink of ale, Justin reached out and deftly grabbed a passing Lucille around the waist, bringing the barmaid down into his lap. She made a warm, giggling presence against him that sent whatever negative thoughts had been brewing back where they belonged.

"Hey, darling. Why ya workin' so hard? Everybody gets ta have a little fun at tournament." There sure were a lot of guys in here when there was another fight still brewing, that's for sure. But Erik and his father were taking care of things, sure as the sun was gonna rise in the morning. They sure didn't need him worrying about it. He leaned in and nuzzled Lucille's ear, smelling the warm muskiness of her hair and the sweetness of her perfume. She wriggled appreciatively against him, and then she wasn't the only one feeling warm.

"I wish you'd tell Michael that," she purred flirtatiously. "He won't let me off for _anything_. And I'm just dying to get off my feet." The look she gave him suggested exactly what position she'd like to take. "I'll bet that if someone very important asked, I could get a little time away. I've even got a bottle of wine chilling." She ran one hand down his thigh, nibbling his ear lightly. "Margaret can cover for me."

"Yeah." She wouldn't be happy about it, but Margaret would go along if asked. She was sure a good sport, sometimes. He cupped Lucille's head in his hands and drew her down to kiss her. It was every bit as good as it always was. One of her hands ran through his hair while the other slid slowly down his chest. That felt real good, and there was more where that came from. Reluctantly he broke their kiss and turned toward the bar and Michael, raising one eyebrow. The bartender/owner sighed.

"All right. I suppose we could all use a break. Margaret and I can cover for an hour or so." He gave Lucille a stern look. "An hour. Not half the night. Then you'll spot Margaret."

Lucille seemed about to protest and Justin gave her a warning squeeze. "There's always after closin', darlin," he murmured in her ear. "Or did you think I'd forget my favorite barmaid so quick?"

"I _was_ beginning to wonder." There was a waspish tone to her reply he didn't much like, but she'd get over it soon enough. They'd both get over the weird stuff that'd been happening lately, and everything would go back to the way it always had been. What the hell had he been thinking anyway, trying to act the big hero? That was Erik's job, and Erik did it one hell of a lot better than he ever could. And Tessa? Hell, she was a long ways from his usual type. But his minstrel girl was smart, quick witted, pretty, and made him feel, well... His train of thought staggered to a halt as Lucille slid from his lap and turned to bend and face him, giving him an ample view of her bounty.

"Thinking deep thoughts? That's not like you, Prince Justin." There were a few knowing chuckles to that from around the bar. She caressed his cheek, her eyes full of bedroom knowledge, and he was lost. Justin got up, tossed a few coins on the table, and followed Lucille out into the bright afternoon sunshine.

###

"Sorry, Prince Erik." Michael looked up at Erik, looking both embarrassed and amused. "Justin was here, but he left some time ago." The barkeep allowed a small amount of annoyance to show in his face. "And took Lucille with him. Things have started to pick up, and I don't mind saying that I'd like to see the wretched girl back here."

"That's just how I feel about my wayward brother." Erik took a deep breath and tried to cool his irritation. It was one thing to be angry with his brother in private, but another to air out their differences in public. Probably too late in Justin's case, though. Michael nodded, confirming his suspicions.

"He is something of a, well, free spirit. Was here for quite a while before he left with Lucille, drinking and playing cards like nothing in the world was wrong. Maybe a little quieter than usual, but I'd say that applies to all of us, after last night. And from the look of things, I'd say Lucille will have him back to normal in no time.

"Any idea which way they went?" Marko set his mug down with real regret, and Erik nodded in wordless agreement. The dinner was only a couple of hours away now, and with everything that had happened they both knew it was imperative that the Greystones present a united front. It wouldn't be the first time they'd had to drag him from some wench's bed in order to do it, either. Which meant that their own all too brief recreational time was going to have to be cut short.

Michael shook his head regretfully. "I was too busy with that Montgomery bunch over there to notice. And Margaret was in the back at the time. But since they only had an hour, I'd say they didn't go far. You might try the stables, or one of the servant's quarters."

"Great," Erik muttered to Marko as they turned away. "Just the sort of places I'd like to find the second in line to the throne." The frown on his face deepened. "But I wish I could say it surprises me."

"Hey, don't look at me. He's not my brother." Seeing the expression on his face, Marko wisely let Erik proceed him out the tent door. In spite of everything, he almost felt sorry for Justin when Erik caught up with him.

###

He was alone.

Of course, that was nothing new. Even as a boy, Roland had known that the simple pursuits of other children were not for him. Instead of playing leaping frog or any one of a hundred other idiotic children's games, he had spent his time in study. First in study of the natural world, and then in secret and subtle contemplation of the forces manipulated by what the ignorant called cauldron magic. From there...well, it had certainly been an interesting trip, as the old men used to say.

But this time he wasn't just physically alone. He stared for a long moment at the altar, then shoved it angrily to the floor. Forced by circumstances to seek isolated quarters where the sounds and smells of his conjuring would not be noticed, there was nothing here to distract him from the failure of his casting. He had spoken all the words, make the right sacrifices, and yet the portal to his master remained stubbornly closed. His own amplified powers remained unabated, so nothing fatal--if such a thing were indeed possible--had befallen his master. But for the first time he couldn't feel his dread lord's presence in his mind, nor reach him through more physically arcane methods. He was on his own.

Not that it mattered. Wiping the incense dust off his hands with a clean white handkerchief, Roland Deerborne carefully checked his appearance. The cut of the clothes, the richness of the fabric, and the small embedded jewels suggested nobility without being quite ostentatious enough for royalty. That was all to the good; even the continent of Aperans had only so many of the latter, and it would be pathetically ironic to be exposed as an "imposter" on the eve of his greatest success.

No, his clothing would be fine. He brushed one finger across the jewel at his throat and felt the pleasant tingle of magic caressing his skin. The one thing his unsuccessful communication spell had done was confirm that Traquill's spell hawk was indeed deactivated. His master had promised that once he had the old wizard's attentions fully engaged, it would be child's play to snip the lines of force that connected the artificial creature to its creator. Apparently his master had succeeded in at least that much.

_Which means I am free to roam, with none of them any the wiser_. The minor spell he had just cast upon himself would insure that. Anyone looking upon him would see someone vaguely familiar, someone non-threatening and perhaps just the slightest bit boring. It was a spell of emotions, not thought, and wouldn't stand up to strong scrutiny. The thought of someone breaking the spell brought a cool smile of anticipation to his lips. _I wouldn't mind a "dance" or two tonight. Without a little risk, where's the fun in playing at all?_

His clothing was in place, and so was his appearance. With hours yet to go before full dark, Roland Deerborne left his "borrowed" storage room and sauntered off toward the sounds of voices and laughter. He was hungry in more ways than one, and there were so very many exquisite items on the menu.

###

"The stables." Lucille was looking up at him, making no attempt to hide her skepticism or her disappointment. 

"Hey, this is _war_. We all have to make compromises," Justin protested teasingly. And it was because of that war that he knew the stables would be empty. These had been assigned to King Baaldorf's men, and they'd all be out on the walls or patrolling the fields beyond them until they'd finally caught that crazy Deerborne. A sudden pang of conscience tightened his chest. Maybe it wasn't too late to-- 

No. He'd done his part. Let Erik take care of the rest of it. That's what he was best at. And speaking of which... Justin nuzzled Lucille's ear, letting one hand caress her breasts through the thin material of her blouse. He knew what he was best at. "'Less maybe you think you're likely to get a better offer." She moved her head and kissed him full on. He grinned through their kiss even as it continued to deepen, one hand pulling impatiently at the stable door.

"What's taking so long?" Lucille, bless the girl, wasn't big on what you'd call delayed gratification. But in endurance and enthusiasm, she had the rest of the field beat. Finally the door gave way, and they stumbled into darkness. She giggled and rolled against the interior stable wall, pulling him close. "Aren't you going to close the door?"

"For you, darlin', anything." One hand on her and one on the door, with paradise just a few steps away. Then:

"Halt, foul intruder!" Something hard and sharp was pressed against his spine, and Justin had time to curse himself as several kinds of fool before the sound of the voice registered.

"Marcus, you clod! That's not Allan." The sharp edge at his back wavered at the words, and Justin spun around and batted the weapon aside, ready to face his would-be attacker.

Who looked up at him with eyes so large and round it looked like they might fall from his head. The boy's face was dead white, and his mouth hung open like a trap for nits. His jerkin's colors and the wooden practice sword the boy held in one shaking hand told the rest of the tale.

"Well, well, well. What's this? Bunch of squires tryin' to gang up on a prince, huh?" The tension ran out of him like wine from a cracked bottle, and Justin ruffled the stunned boy's head. "Don't worry, kid. You're gonna have ta hit a lot harder to get through my thick hide."

"I'm sorry, Prince Greystone." One of the other squires came forward, bowing smoothly enough for a kid who couldn't be more than nine years old. And who looked kind of familiar, now that you mentioned it. "We were released from duty for the afternoon, and thought to spend it in sword practice. Marcus thought you were another of us." He shot a dark look at Justin's would-be attacker. 

"Well, you've got speed kid, and you're mighty quiet. Once you get the whole 'friends versus enemies' thing worked out, you'll be just fine," he told Marcus solemnly. Lucille was tapping her foot impatiently now that the initial alarm was over, ready to go. But something wasn't quite right. He nodded to the boy who seemed to be in charge. "You said you were all dismissed for the day...?"

"Darrell, sire." The kid grinned, and sure enough, it was the one who'd come barreling into Erik and him earlier that day. "And yes, sire. King Baaldorf himself said that the threat was passed, and that we should enjoy ourselves."

"Hang on." Justin pulled free of Lucille and took a step toward the squire, only now noticing the inside of the stable. His night vision had finally kicked in, and he saw that most of the stalls were full, the saddles and blankets carefully stored. Their riders--knights and cavalry divisions of soldiers--were nowhere to be found. "You're saying that Baaldorf says it's over? Deerborne's dead, his guys are dead, and everything is just honky-dory?"

"Y-yes, sire. The wizard Vector told them himself." When the kid saw that Justin wasn't the type to kill the messenger, he went on more easily. "We were told that King Tronin's men would be protection enough, and that all were invited to tonight's entertainment." The young squire clearly had an opinion on _that_, but was far too wise to reveal it.

"Vector told them, and they believed him. Yeah, guess I'm not surprised." Justin took a deep breath. After this afternoon, he really shouldn't have been surprised. Well, not at Erik. But his _father_?

"See? Nothing to worry about." Lucille's hand was on his wrist, her full breast pressed pleasantly against his arm. "Like you always say, somebody else will take care of it. And somebody else did. Now why don't we go find someplace a little more private, before Michael starts screaming for me?" She tugged on his arm and he let her lead him outside. He waved half-heartedly at the squires as he did so, his thoughts racing.

_This is my fault. I could have tried harder to convince 'em. Checked on the guards myself, instead of leaving it all up to Erik._ Which was just plain crazy. Erik was the responsible one. Always had been. Heir to Camarand, and all that. Justin Greystone was just the guy behind the scenes, the second fiddle picking up little bits of information here and there, never (well, rarely) out front when the trouble started. And how had he spent his afternoon? Drinking and playing cards, and making plans to bed an all-too-willing barmaid.

_Well, so what? Ain't like I had any proof. Just the visions of a blind traveling musician with more imagination than smarts_. Which wasn't fair, but the sudden surge of resentment didn't really care about the little details. When had all of this become his fault? Hell, his _responsibility_?

"C'mon, darlin', let's make tracks." Sliding his arm around Lucile's waist Justin drew her away from the castle walls decorated with Tronin's pretty boys and toward merchant's tent he'd spied earlier. Apparently the merchant, a handkerchief embroiderer or somethin', had sold out early and hadn't bothered yet to take her tent down. That would make as nice a spot as any to block it all away for a while. They'd gone maybe three paces when a newly-familiar face whirled to face him.

"Prince Justin Greystone. Why am I not surprised?" For somebody who couldn't see, the blonde-haired minstrel sure could put a lot of expression into those blue eyes. She held a small crate under one arm and a lute across her back, apparently having been pulling stores from their wagon for the play tonight.. "I mean, I've heard the stories, but I am still surprised." Hurt warred with anger in her eyes. Anger won. "Not only have you made no attempt to pass on the warnings I--you were given," she covered quickly. "But instead I find you out here, smelling of ale and cheap perfume." She bit her lip, and for just a second sadness overran her fury. "Was the possibility of having to take a stand of your own really _that_ intimidating?"

"Hang on now," he began heatedly.

She waved her hand, dismissing his objections unheard. "It doesn't matter. If our friend does come back, I think he'll be in for a big surprise. So relax, Justin. You won't have to put you current playmate on hold to come and try to rescue me. And isn't that a lot of work for the possibility of a one night stand with a lowly minstrel, anyway?

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do." She turned around and swept off, using her walking stick for guidance as she stormed across the wide yard and toward the main building. And if her shoulders were shaking as she did so, it was from her indignant and just plain wrong-headed fury. Right?

###

"You know, sometimes I really hate being right." Erik slowed to a stop, Marko right beside him. It hadn't taken them long. Justin was both popular and well-known among the peasants and low-level nobility, and a few questions after leaving Michael's had led them unerringly in the direction of the stables. Justin wasn't more than two dozen paces away, talking animatedly with one woman--the minstrel he'd picked up on the road, it looked like--while keeping one arm solidly around Lucille Winslow. The minstrel left with a flounce, making Erik wonder briefly what Justin could have said to cause that reaction. Minstrels, as a rule, weren't known for the shy and retiring ways.

"The stables," Marko sighed. "Why not a nice room somewhere? Not like King Tronin doesn't have enough of 'em around here."

"You heard your brother. Lucille has to get back soon, and Justin's never been all that particular when it comes to this kind of pursuit."

Erik grinned. "But maybe Lucille is." They watched from a distance as the barmaid slapped Justin, putting the strength of her barmaid's upper arm into it. The blow rocked his head back, and then she too wheeled around and left, this time in the direction of Michael's tavern. Without a word between them Erik and Marko headed for Justin before the younger Greystone could disappear again.

"Hey little brother." Justin was leaning back against the stable door, rubbing lazily at the cheek that Lucille had assaulted. He seemed little the worse for wear, though it was abundantly clear where he'd spent the past few hours. "You know, you showing up just now kinda makes my day complete."

"Yeah? Well, I'm glad to make your day, Justin."

"Didn't say that," Justin interjected. Erik chose to ignore it.

"You realize, of course, that the final dinner begins in less than an hour? And that you are expected to make an appearance? A clean, neat, and sober appearance?".

"Erik, don't you start with me," Justin warned. "My day hasn't gone all that well so far."

"Oh yeah, I forgot. The stress and strain of trying to choose between one green-skirted playmate and another. Don't strain yourself too much, J--" Erik was cut off in surprise as Justin pushed him in the chest, hard. He actually stumbled backward, and had to pinwheel his arms to keep from falling down. The next thing he knew Marko was at his shoulder, an uncharacteristic snarl on his face.

"You do not want to go there, little brother." There was no hint of playfulness on his brother's face now. "Lucille's a nice, friendly lady, that's all. And Tessa," there was a noticeable hesitation, "well, let's just say that you go on making accusations like that, somebody's likely to call you on 'em."

"That sounds like a threat." Marko's voice was devoid of humor too. Had everyone gone crazy?

"Maybe it is," Justin agreed.

"Look, this isn't the time or the place for this," Erik tried. "Later on we can work this out. But right now--"

"_You'll_ work it out, isn't that what you mean? Well, let me let you in on a little secret, Erik. I ain't one of your subjects. And I think we all know I'm not one of your 'trusted advisors', either. So why don't you get on out of here, and let me take care of myself? Don't you worry, I won't embarrass the family none."

"Justin--" Erik tried one last time. What was happening between them? He didn't want to fight, but couldn't Justin see for once the weight of the responsibilities he was under? So much was riding on tonight. Why couldn't Justin see beyond his own needs? But Justin just stared at him, almost daring him to speak. The hostility Erik saw in Justin's face almost made him feel guilty, but what did he have to feel guilty about?

"Fine. Have it your way," Erik said. The words came out with all of the disgust he felt at the whole situation. "Just try to make it on time."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world." Justin made no move to go, and so Erik did. Marko stayed a moment longer, then hurried to join him. When Erik snuck a look back a moment later Justin was gone. He stopped and stood there for a moment, wondering how everything could have gone so badly wrong. His brother acting completely crazy, Traquill mysteriously gone, a new wizard or warlock or whatever he was was wandering around, and, oh yeah, most of their own people now thought that the Greystones had brought the guy here!

The only consolation was that things just couldn't get much worse.

Could they?

End of Chapter Six

**Chapter Seven Coming Soon!**


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

"Well, she certainly has nerve." Eloina Stormhold sniffed disdainfully and nodded down her regal nose at the woman entering the Great Hall down below. "Honestly, I wouldn't show my face in public for a year after being exposed like that."

"You would never have done any such thing in the first place," her sister concurred. "How positively gauche. Imagine getting caught throwing yourself at a crown prince, just to win a royal contract. Heavens, doesn't the creature have any subtlety at all?" She tittered lightly, and turned her head slightly to share her amusement with Roland Deerborne. "Her father had a most agreeable marriage arranged with Lord Farstaff's second son, but of course that's on hold now."

"And her father didn't even get the contract," Eloina added gleefully. "It went to Lord Rhys Baaldorf, younger brother of King Edwin Baaldorf. Oh, there he is now."

"Lord Rhys?" Roland sighed inwardly, prepared to show polite interest. The gossipy Stormhold sisters had been a find, and he had spent the better part of an hour learning all of the dirty secrets and hidden resentments of the Aperans royalty. The down side had been their gleeful fascination with petty insults and slights that could never be fanned into something useful. Keeping them on track had been as challenging as any duel. So where was this younger--?

"King Edwin Baaldorf and her majesty, Queen Lattinia Baaldorf." The crier's discrete but carrying announcement caught his attention and Roland watched as one of Camerand's most powerful rulers entered the Great Hall. The man, in his late fifties and showing the first signs of age's softness, nodded absently to the crier and escorted his wife into the room, where the two were immediately swamped by hangers-on and supplicants.

"I see that the Princess Baaldorf is not with them," Roland said lightly. "I hope that she hasn't been taken ill?"

"Oh no," Elena Stormhold replied with a catty little laugh. "The poor child might be witless, but her mother certainly is not. If Baaldorf and Greystone want to reinforce each other's power bases, they simply must make more of a show of Ariel's impending marriage to Erik Greystone. It's a wonderful match, but for all anyone sees of Erik by her side you'd think the Greystones were having second thoughts."

"When it's the Baaldorfs who should be rethinking things," Eloina added. "The mighty Greystone family is not in the best odor just lately, if you take my meaning." Until now they had stayed safely away from the events of the last two days, and Roland was curious to see what spin the ruling parties were putting on his little entertainments.

"Surely not the Greystones," Roland murmured in mild protest, raising his eyebrows in well-mannered disbelief.

"Who would ever have believed it? But recent events have certainly been interesting, haven't they...?" Elena trailed off, her sharp features softening into confusion. "I'm dreadfully sorry, what did you say your name was?"

Roland placed one hand on each sister's shoulder. "Who is that lovely creature down below?" 

Both women shuddered, and Elena gagged briefly. Then their attention dutifully turned back down to the main floor, where a young woman with flame red hair and a haughty bearing was entering the room. With a gesture of disdain she waved away the crier and headed for a dark-clad group of men locked in deep conversation. She walked with a poise and aggressive self-confidence that he found very appealing.

"Marjorie Hartsfall," Eloina said faintly. She blinked, then seemed to recover herself. "There's another who could learn the meaning of subtlety, isn't there, sister? The only daughter of the Baron of Hartsfall, the single largest landowner in Karteia--aside from the Blackpools themselves, of course--but has she married yet? Twenty five if she's a day and still thinks she's a tomboy, running around in breeches half the time."

"And her father encourages it." Elena was clearly back to her old self now. "Cedrick Baaldorf tells me that old Dorian Hartsfall sends her to negotiate treaties on his behalf! Poor man, he must be beside himself, with his only son now dead and no others like to come along. He did himself a great disservice, marrying that Carrina Highcraig. I said it then, didn't I, sister?"

"Oh, but they were in love," Eloina said mockingly. "Whatever else could he have done?"

"Had an affair, a nice, sensible, discrete one, just like everyone else. Honestly, sometimes I do despair for our fellow nobility, sister. Don't you agree?"

She had turned back to him, but Roland only had eyes for the woman down below. She had joined the group she had been approaching and was now deep in discussion with men two and three times her senior. From where he was standing Roland could see no sign that they found her presence unwelcome or surprising. 

"But she's not nobility, is she?" A preening fop wearing Blackpool colors tried to offer her a glass of wine and she waved him away impatiently. From behind him there was only silence as he watched the girl turn back to her conversation, her disdain for pointless social niceties evident. "The Hartsfall line is one of the royal lineages of Aperans, is it not?" He turned to face his companions. "Making her considerably more than just another noble, wouldn't you say?" He watched in amusement as the smug superiority fell from their narrow faces. "Hers is a line of kings. Unlike some. If you will excuse me, ladies?" He didn't wait for an answer, but left the small second floor alcove and headed directly for the main stairway.

Time for one last game, before the night's entertainment commenced.

# # #

His new clothes itched.

Erik Greystone rubbed at his neck, trying to make the gesture seem natural and not a nervous twitch. He was nervous, of course, but it would be very bad to show it at the moment. Focusing on minor annoyances like a stiff new tunic kept his mind from wandering on to bigger things, which was definitely a good idea right now.

"...well, she said that the colors were all wrong for him, but I think--Erik, are you listening?" Ariel put one finely manicured hand over his, and with a start Erik realized that he'd lost track of what she was saying. Not that it was hard; Ariel's conversation seemed to be limited to fashion, the weather, and court gossip, none of which were of exactly riveting importance to him. He smiled gamely and nodded, his eyes searching the crowds still milling around the hall. Ariel started talking again. Where was he, damn it?

"...of course red isn't a color for everyone, and oh look, there's a dragon come to eat all of us."

"Huh?" Erik jerked to attention, one hand going reflexively to the hilt of his sword. Where was it? Why didn't he see it come...oh. He looked down a little sheepishly at the hand on his forearm.

"Now you're listening to me." Ariel had a sort of sad half-smile on her face. "Erik, I know you're probably bored to tears, but could you at least _try_ to look interested? People are starting to talk."

"They did that hours ago." Walking into the hall tonight had shown him that much--Justin hadn't been exaggerating about that, at least. It seemed like half of the Camerand contingent and all of Karteia were convinced that they, the Greystones, were behind the attacks of the last two days. The warm reception he'd received on the first day had been replaced by a cool, considering look and non-committal answers to even the most polite of questions. Never in his entire life could Erik remember being treated that way. It had been a relief to ascend to the dais and sit down beside his father, Ariel at his aide. Dinner would be served soon, and then some sort of obligatory entertainment would be provided. Then, barring an attack by a very dead warlock and his equally dead soldiers, this long day would at last be over.

Thinking of the warlock and his soldiers brought Justin back to mind. Justin, who still hadn't shown up. Justin, who'd been acting really strange ever since the night of the first attacks. Their fight still gnawed at him, as did Justin's weird insistence that he knew more about what was going on than he possibly could. The whole idea was crazy, of course, but a small part of him was glad that their father had indulged his younger son by leaving their men on the castle walls and in the fields beyond. His gaze scanned the crowd again, and this time he saw Justin's familiar figure. Erik hid a sigh of relief as his brother, clean shaven and dressed in his best clothes, greeted a few friends and then headed directly for their dais.

"I'm sorry, Ariel. Did you say something?" He'd thought he'd heard something, but when Erik turned to look Ariel was sitting quietly, twisting her handkerchief between slender, jeweled fingers. She shook her head and smiled sweetly, then quickly looked away toward a female cousin who had approached their table. He felt like he was missing something there, but then Justin arrived, offering their father a subdued greeting and settling into his own chair without any of his customary banter. Ariel's cousin returned to her own table and they sat in silence, waiting for the dinner to begin.

# # #

Tessa dipped the rag into her mug of cool water and then patted lightly at her forehead before rubbing the cold rag against the back of her neck. She took a deep breath, and then another. She would not be sick. She would not.

"Guessin' I know who's got stage fright tonight." Gregory plopped down beside her on the narrow bench, the tin of his mock armor rattling noisily. "You want I should fetch the chamber pot?"

"No." Her voice seemed to come from very far away.

"Don't know why you're fussin', anyway. Not like you haven't been singin' plays since forever." Forever to Gregory was any time past five years ago, when he'd first joined their little band. She took another deep breath and wet her lips.

"We've never performed this before. And the last performances of Evanda's story weren't exactly well received by the nobility, were they?" But fear over a few pieces of thrown fruit or even a lashing from an annoyed royal were the furthest things from her mind. _He _was out there. She could feel his unnatural presence like poisonous ants that crawled over her skin and across the surface of her thoughts. But the sensation was faint, untraceable. He could be anywhere.

The courage of an hour ago seemed to have left her, replaced with self doubt. Should they have chosen to run? It might not be too late, even now. Who was she to think she could get involved in the ways of royals and their wizards and live to tell the tale? Her royal "protector" had obviously abandoned her, leaving them open not only to wizardly attack but also to royal disapproval, should 'Evanda' not fare well.

From behind her Talmor finished his tuning and played the opening bars of King Highcraig's second act solo on his lute. Automatically Tessa ran her mind through the stirring lyrics.

_The future stands before us  
In darkness wrapped so tight  
But if we dare to fly  
If we but dare to try  
That hateful doubting chorus  
Will melt 'for brav'ry's shining light_

She smiled, feeling the doubt slip away. Talmor was right. Justin had been right, too, even if the advice had been too strong a cup for him to sip from himself. The future stood before them all, waiting. You could run from it, or stand still, fearful of change, of challenge, and let it pass you by. Justin had made that last choice, she knew now.

Or you could stand and face it, like the coming of a new day, and make of it what you would. Tessa set the rag down and patted her imitation finery into place. Let the crowds laugh. Let the wizard come.

"It's time."

# # #

The dinner was a disaster. Oh, it had started off well enough. Erik had appeared at her door at the arranged time, looking wonderful. He had bowed and offered her his arm, and they had swept down the grand staircase and into the great hall just as she had imagined it a hundred times. Everyone there turned to look as they arrived, and she had basked in the warm glow of attention.

Well, at first. But as they crossed the room, greeting and being greeted, she began to hear whispers. People were less friendly than they had been, and some seemed actually...mean. No one had ever been cruel to her before. Daddy wouldn't let them. And she had always tried to be nice herself, even when the person was old, or boring, or ugly. But now for some reason people were saying one thing and looking another, then saying things she could almost hear as soon as she and Erik had passed. She wanted to ask Erik what was wrong, but there was no way to do it with so many people around. She turned to ask Mother and then remembered that Mother and Daddy had gone ahead, leaving her to follow alone with her betrothed.

Not that Mother and Daddy had been very helpful earlier. She had been all but locked in her room all day, while people ran to and fro down in the courtyard and servants gossiped just out of reach. If she'd been home she would have known which ones to ask, but here Ariel was all but alone. Cassandra had talked to Marko earlier and knew something, but would say only that Mother said not to worry. Honestly! How was she ever going to be Queen herself if she wasn't allowed to know what was going on?

And something was going on, that was for sure. Erik had paid even less attention to her than usual during dinner, his eyes a thousand miles away. Everyone else was still subdued from all the people lost in the dog-thing attacks last night, or else nervous and watchful like Erik. Even Justin seemed jumpy! And no fun at all, when she tried to get him involved in a word game when they were between courses. Wasn't it all over with? Mother had told her so, and the Tournament flag was flying again. The hall was full of people, but no one was having any fun.

After what seemed like forever the final course was taken away and the musicians who had been playing quietly on the stage erected to her right got up and left. An old man in wizard robes and a young soldier in armor came out and started placing unlit lanterns on the stage.

"Erik? What's happening?" She had never seen this particular wizard before. Weren't there only two? And his robes looked strange. People had been talking about wizards lately. New, evil ones. Vague alarm started to build. Was this the danger Erik had been looking for?

"It's a play," Erik explained patiently. "A musical one, I think." He looked over at Justin, who didn't look back. "It'll be okay." He patted her hand kindly, if a little absently.

"Oh. Okay, then." He must think she was a real idiot, not recognizing a play being set up. How many had she seen in her life? But the wizard robes had confused her, as had the way everyone had been acting. It seemed funny that they were going to do something so, so...ordinary. Ariel opened her mouth to explain and saw that Erik wasn't thinking about how dumb she was. He wasn't thinking about her at all, but looking from Justin to the stage and back again, a frown on his face.

_He wasn't thinking about her_. And there were no bad guys here to fight, no icky dragon to kill. He just...wasn't thinking of her. Didn't care what she thought. Of course arranged marriages weren't made for love, but she always thought, always assumed... Blinking back tears, Ariel put on her best cheerful face and watched the stage, hoping that they'd dim the lights soon. Right now all she wanted was for this terrible night to be over with.

# # #

"Everything is arranged?" Dirk gave his wizard the most absent of nods as the man returned to his seat, pretending to be lost in the performance in front of them. The performance was the usual romanticized drivel, of course, but it did hide a great many necessary activities. Activities such as the one he'd laid on Vector.

"It is, my lord. Captain Stoner tells me that all of your horses are ready to be ridden out at your command. Most of the men have already left, as I am sure you have noticed."

"Yes, this little musical production is proving most distracting. Remind me to thank King Tronin for his thoughtfulness."

"Of course, Sire. I have also done a little research, which I am sure you will find quite fascinating." He paused as one of the barons passed too close to them on the way back to his seat. At Dirk's nod he resumed. "The words the servant girl spoke were necromantic, as I have said. It is not my particular specialty, but this spell seemed oddly familiar. Then I remembered something that Greystone fool said."

"Erik? Which particular thing?"

"Not him. The other one. Justin." The dislike for both royal brothers was clear in the wizard's voice.

"Ah, yes. The blight on the Greystone's precious good name. What could he have said to interest you, Vector?"

"That the spell that killed the warlock's men was no accident. Of course at the time I dismissed his ravings like everyone else, but given the fact that we now know that the warlock himself survived, just as Greystone predicted, made it seem worth pursuing. With some time and not-inconsiderable effort, I have been able to divine the spell." He leaned in closer to his prince and explained in the barest of whispers.

"Really?" Dirk leaned back and raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I must say I am impressed. What an…efficient use of one's enemy's resources. A pity we cannot convince him and his master to join our side."

"Mmm." Vector clearly wanted nothing to do with this mad wizard he kept fussing about. "Well, since we cannot, my lord, I have taken the liberty of setting a minor detection spell. It should give us ample time to flee before the…effects of that spell are fully felt here."

"Not too soon. I want to see their faces when they first realize what they're up against. And watch as we blithely escape before their very eyes. I could sleep well for a week on the look in Erik's eyes alone."

"My lord, should we wait too long—" Vector began.

"We won't. We will warn the barony as soon as the time is right, of course; I'm sure that we can think of an appropriate way for them to thank me later for that. But you and I will teleport out, Vector. I trust you will have enough energy left for that?"

"Barely," he admitted grudgingly. "Without the monocle, everything I do is ten times as difficult. Don't forget, you also required personal protective wardings for yourself and your brother." He handed Dirk a plain leather pouch. "Wear this, and make no offensive gesture toward our enemies, when they appear. If you follow these simple instructions they will simply not see you at all."

"Useful." Dirk tied the bag around his neck and stuffed it beneath his leather breastplate for protection. "Speaking of which, how is my dear little brother? Still alive? I couldn't help but notice that he wasn't able to attend our little dinner affair." It wasn't a thing of great importance, but occasionally Geoffrey _did_ prove useful. And, more importantly, he had ordered Vector to heal him.

"He will live." Vector growled. "His injuries were quite severe, and I have little interest in the _healing_ arts." He said it as though the word left a foul taste in his mouth. "The only reason I know them at all is that a basic familiarity is necessary if one wishes to learn the darker arts of flesh manipulation. But he will live, my lord. Though you may wish to have one of our guards retrieve him when the moment is right. Geoffrey is far too weak yet to move under his own volition."

"Very well," Dirk sighed. He gestured languidly, and one of his personal guard stepped forward immediately. "Give this to Prince Geoffrey, then instruct the guard in the infirmary to be ready to retrieve him at a moment's notice. We may be leaving rather abruptly this evening. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sire." The man, already well briefed in their plans to flee, bowed deeply and then cut easily through the crowds towards the kitchen, where the last of the seriously injured were still being kept.

"Well, that's taken care of." Dirk sat back and watched the performance for a moment. At least this bunch wasn't off key. Under the guise of enjoying the entertainment on stage, Dirk Blackpool watched the real show going on all around him. What would they say if they knew the horror that was coming for them?

He'd find out soon enough.

# # #

He was doing just fine, right up until the start of the last act. All through dinner he'd been able to keep a mad on that worked real nice at keeping him from thinking about anything, much less about everything that happened in the last couple of days. But Justin just wasn't the kind of guy who could keep a good mad on, and by the time dessert rolled around he'd gotten past that. Staring moodily into a glass of wine while he thought about how badly he'd managed to screw things up was good for a little while longer, letting him miss Tessa's entrance and the guilt looking at her was gonna bring out.

Yeah, guilt. There wasn't much point in denying it any more. He'd let her down at least as much as he had his father and their kingdom, and he knew it. Father had Erik, after all, and a bunch of knights and well trained soldiers to back him up if things went the way Justin figured they were headed. Tessa didn't have anyone but him. He'd promised her he'd take care of her. That he believed her. And what had he done? Let his mouth get the better of him, making sure that nobody would believe a word he said, then try to drown his sorrows in a barrel of ale and the first warm female body he came across. The look on Tessa's face when she found him with Lucille wasn't something he was likely to forget anytime soon.

And there she was. Standing on Tronin's stage, Talmor beside her, he dressed as King Highcraig to her Evana. Highcraig was singing something about courage, about how he needed her, how their kingdom needed her. The old bard did a good job of it, but Justin couldn't tear his gaze from Tess. The look on her face as the old man urged her to accept the crown looked a little too much like her own expression when he himself had urged her to stand her ground that morning. Had it really been only that day? It felt like a thousand years ago.

She was pale and trembling, and not without cause. More than a few of the nobility in the audience were stirring uncomfortably. This was the big taboo, the supreme arrogance. A commoner queen? He started to wonder if maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. The crown came down on her head, Gregory's cleric intoning the words that would make the ceremony complete. The hairs on the back of Justin's neck began to bristle. The audience was doing more than just stirring now. Any second now they be on their feet. Just how many kinds of fool had he been to think that this was gonna work?

Then she rose from bended knee and the room seemed to fall silent. Fear appeared to flow from her face, replaced by brave determination. Her shoulders straightened, her chin came up. This was no frightened commoner, no timid king's advisor. This was a queen.

One hand on her 'husband's' arm, Evana/Tessa stepped forward to address the crowd. In a clear, bell-like voice she sang about the troubles before them, how it would take the courage of all of them to make it past these troubled times. Evana had been speaking of the terrible famine that had held the land in a stranglehold for five years, but the words and the conviction with which Tessa sang them spoke clearly to the present day. Justin was dimly aware that the crowd had grown quiet, their dissent stilled. The rest of him was lost in her spell as surely as if she _was_ a witch.

A few minutes later the death of the ailing King Highcraig came, followed by Evana's song of mourning. The song was equal parts heartbroken grief and determination to go on, and with it the silence in the audience was broken. From all around him Justin heard the sounds of muffled grief as those who'd lost family members here found a moment of solace in her brave, strong words. The thought of what it must be like for those folks made his own chest grow tight, and Justin turned toward his father and brother. Sure enough, they felt it too. Father's hand was on Erik's shoulder, and after a moment they both turned to look at him, their faces set and grim. Ariel sat between them, sniffing delicately into a handkerchief, but some of the old closeness returned anyway. He nodded to the both of them then turned his attention back to the stage.

After that the finale was almost anti-climactic. Evana was killed by the Baron of Montrey, allowing that distant cousin of Highcraig to ascend to the throne. Evana's plans to defeat the famine died with her, but her legacy was in the number of commoners who later would rise to positions of influence within the royal houses. As torches were relit all three singers returned to the stage, each taking a verse of Highcraig's second act solo, urging the audience to stand up for what it believed in. All three voices came together in tight harmony for the last verse, which urged them to honor the fallen in the actions they took today. It was a brilliant, emotional finish, and the rest of the audience was only a second behind him in leaping to its collective feet and applauding with unrestrained enthusiasm.

"Well done. Very well done." His father was clapping along with the rest, but his eyes rested solidly on Justin. A warm glow began to build in Justin's chest, but he shrugged and said only,

"Yeah, didn't go too badly, did it? Thought for a minute I was gonna have to rescue me some minstrels, though." His father's approving expression didn't change, and Justin allowed what he was really feeling to show in the broad smile on his face. The clapping intensified, and he turned his attention back to the stage as Tessa was literally pushed forward by her companions to take a solo bow.

Still smiling like a damn fool idiot, Justin stood and stepped down from the dais. He cut effortlessly through the crowds to stand directly in front of the stage. Tessa was still up there, now smiling shyly as if surprised at all the fuss. There were steps leading from the main floor to the center of the stage, and he took them in a single bound, coming to land just a single step away from her. She seemed to sense him in spite of the crowd noise, putting out one tentative hand in his direction. He took it gently.

"Care to dance, my lady queen?"

# # #

The applause flowed over her like a warm wave, buoying her spirits and making Tessa smile shyly as she took yet another curtsey before her esteemed audience, careful to keep the fragile crown upon her head as she did so. Talmor and Martha had pushed her forward for a solo bow, and she knew she ought to feel terrified. The sound of the crowd was like a living thing, disorienting her and destroying her normally keen sense of direction. Instead she felt calm, almost euphoric. They had performed very well, indeed, and were certain to find a home among the nobility for the coming winter now. Justin had promised them one, of course, but he had made a lot of promises, hadn't he? Not wanting to overstay her welcome, Tessa took a step back, her ears straining for the sound of her family behind her. Instead she heard a shift in the tone of the crowd. Had she misread their reaction?

No. Someone was in front of her, much closer to the stage than they should have been. The talent she still didn't understand told her that much, but—she reached out, first with her mind and then with her hand. The presence was unthreatening, familiar. It was…

Justin. The warm, affectionate feel of his hand on hers preceded the warmth of his voice. "Care to dance, my lady queen?"

Tessa felt herself blush uncontrollably. It was one thing to portray royalty on a stage, complete with tapestry dress and tin crown, but another thing entirely to be addressed so now that the play was done. And by a royal, no less! She tried to pull her hand free, but of course he showed no sign of being willing to let her go.

"I'm not a queen, or a lady. And certainly not _your_ anything." She tried to keep the anger she felt toward him in her voice, but that anger was suddenly nowhere to be found.

"Aw, come on. Folks are starting to stare." He was teasing her, but underneath she could hear the honest entreaty in his voice. "Dance with me. Just one dance." Sure enough, behind her Tessa could hear King Tronin's own musicians preparing to perform a dance set.

"I, I—" She wanted very much to refuse, but the self confidence lent to her by their performance sent her stepping down to the tiled floor instead. It would certainly be something to tell her grandchildren, if nothing else, she told herself: the day a commoner girl wore a crown and danced among the royalty. _And tomorrow all of this will be behind us, _she promised herself_. No more excitement for me_. _Not unless that wizard thinks to come calling_. Her jaw clenched at the thought, and she was barely aware as Justin pulled her into the slow waltz that had just started. She'd felt nothing more from the wizard during the performance, thank all the gods. With any luck he had given up, or found the one he had come searching for in the first place. But if he did try to hurt her, or her adopted family, he just might find out just how hot a lightning bolt really was. Her lips pressed together in an unconscious frown.

"I was gonna ask if you were still mad at me, but guess I don't half to." Justin's voice, warm and low in her ear, brought Tessa out of her grim thoughts. He gave a short, humorless laugh. "Not that I blame you. I really screwed up this time, Tess. Not that that should be a big surprise." He sounded so despondent that she squeezed his hand sympathetically.

"I have no right to judge you, Justin. I'm sure that you did all that you—"

"Oh yeah. I handled it real well." The bitterness in his voice made her sad.

"Don't say that. I'm sure you did the best you could. And all you had was my word. The word of a minstrel. To most people's eyes we're either thieves or liars, or worse."

"That shouldn't matter."

"But it does," she said simply. They danced for a minute in silence. It was a pleasure to be in his arms, letting the music swirl them slowly across the floor. From the sound of it not many couples were dancing yet, but the scrape of wood on tile told her that the servants were busy moving chairs and tables out of the way so that more could join them. If anyone disapproved of the commoner dancing with the prince, she couldn't hear them. At last she felt his shoulder beneath her hand begin to relax.

"And I'm the one who ought to be apologizing. I had no business presuming to judge what you or the royal families do. I have to take care of my own problems. Stand up for myself. At least I seem to remember someone saying that." Under the gentle teasing in her voice he relaxed even further, drawing her closer and dipping his head to speak in her ear.

"So you _were_ listening. Here I thought you were just after me for my body."

"Justin!" She bit her lip and resisted the impulse—just barely—to kick him soundly in the shin. "You are the most arrogant—" She paused as he released her hand and brushed one finger across her lips. The song had ended, she realized belatedly. "Don't," she whispered.

"Don't what? Tell you how beautiful you look tonight? How I couldn't keep my eyes off of you from the moment you stepped on that stage?" The next song had begun, and he drew her back into the dance. Now more people had joined them, and Tessa was uncomfortably aware of how out of place she must appear as they moved through the sounds of silk and velvet and the delicate scent of expensive perfume.

"You certainly have a glib tongue," she said lightly. "But don't you think you're wasting your talents on a minstrel girl, with so many beautiful ladies of your own station here tonight?" As much as part of her was enjoying this, it would be better to leave now, while her memories of tonight were all pleasant ones. No sense waiting for the inevitable letdown. And, her mind tried to rationalize, it would be better to eat and rest, the better to be prepared if the warlock did yet make an appearance tonight.

"Looks like minstrels aren't the only ones with a reputation they could do without," Justin said with a heavy mock sigh.

"Well, at least there's some doubt as to the truth of ours," she said lightly. "I don't think there are many who could deny your success with the ladies, Justin." She said it with affection, accepting what she claimed to have known about him all along: Justin Greystone was an incorrigible flirt and ladies' man. He might say the most wonderful things to a girl, and even mean them at the moment, but part of him would always be looking for the next skirt to chase, the next conquest to bed. Loving and lovable, but completely untrustworthy. Her heart had tried briefly to talk her mind into something else, but thankfully she was over that now.

"So how come I haven't been able to think of anyone else since I met you?" The plaintive sound to his voice made her hesitate. Had she been wrong--? "Probably bein' halfway killed does something to a guy's head, I guess." That sounded more like the confident ladies' man she knew. It was a relief, really.

No, really.

"I'm sure that's all it was," she replied lightly. "You'll be back on the mend before you know it, and then let tavern wenches everywhere beware."

"I don't know 'bout that." They spun through a slow, graceful turn, and Tessa heard the sound of tittering laughter. They were almost certainly laughing at her. Probably thinking about the arrogant commoner girl, dressing up in her pretend gown. The prince's latest plaything, she thought with a sigh. "Think I might have developed a taste for a certain minstrel girl I know." His head dipped down as if to kiss her and she gently pulled away.

"I think we've entertained your kinsmen enough, don't you? And I should really get back and help my family pack."

"Heck, you don't have to worry about that none. Our servants'll help you get your stuff together tomorrow morning. We ain't leaving until noon. Plenty of time. And it gives us," he drew her back against him, ignoring her murmured protests, "no reason not ta stay up late. There's still plenty of time for singing, dancing…lots of things." She wanted very much to respond to the teasing invitation in his voice, but she didn't dare.

"We're leaving at first light, Justin. Alone," she said gently.

"What?" He literally froze in his tracks, his grip on her hand suddenly painfully tight.

"Justin, you're hurting me."

"Well, if that isn't the pot callin' the kettle—I mean, what are talkin' about, Tess?" Without another word he dragged her from the dance floor, cutting through the crowds until they were alone. Fresh air bathed her face; they must be in one of the alcoves that faced out into the courtyard.

"You mind tellin' me what this is all about? I thought we had all that settled. You and yours are comin' to Castle Greystone for the winter. Hell, we practically got the beds turned down for you."

_One in particular, no doubt_. Trying to ignore the hurt in his voice—he wasn't used to not getting his way, she knew—Tessa tried to explain. "It wouldn't work, Justin." _For more reasons than you'll ever know_. "Whoever this wizard, or warlock, or whatever he is, he's not going to stop hunting me."

"Which is why—"

"And I'll make a very easy target, hiding in plain sight with you. I was safe for years and years, you know. It wasn't until we came here that I was discovered. If we go somewhere less visible, to the home of some minor noble, say, we'll be that much harder to find."

"He knows about you, Tess. You think your nobles are gonna be able to protect you, when he does find you? You know—"

"I know what I'm doing, Justin. And I can defend myself, if I have to. You've persuaded me of that much, at least." She lowered her voice and leaned in toward him, not wanting to be overheard. The warmth and soft, musky scent of him was distracting, and she bit her lip to clear her head before continuing. "My gift is growing in strength almost by the hour, now. I'll know when he's coming. And what I did to his Hell Hound I can just as easily do to him." With effort she made herself sound certain and brave, quite an acting trick at the moment. Her awareness was expanding, that much was true. But it was also true that she had next to no idea of how to use the energy swirling inside her, nor what might happen if she lost control of it.

"Sounds like you've got everything all figured out." He stepped back from her a pace, his voice growing tight. "Guess you don't need old Justin Greystone no more, do you?"

"That's not what I meant," she replied softly. Why was he being so blind headed? "I have to do what will keep my family safe. How could I possibly trade that for a the possibility of, of…" she trailed off, uncertain of how to explain to a man who couldn't possibly understand.

"What? You tryin' to tell me I'm not good enough for you?" He was trying to make a joke, she knew, but his words came out confused and almost angry.

"Of course not. We both know that the opposite is true, despite what I might like to claim. People are already beginning to talk, Justin. And to laugh. You may be known for your way with the ladies, but it's another thing entirely to bring one of the tavern girls _home_."

"And since when does what other people think of you matter? I'm beginnin' ta think I don't know you at all, Tessa."

Merciful gods. Were they about to have an argument _here_?

"I don't care two sekals what other people say. If want to do a thing, if I decide that it's right, then I'll do it and damned what the entire world thinks." She jerked her chin up defiantly. If he thought she was as quick to admit defeat as he apparently was…

"Then why are you runnin' off again? What are you afraid of, Tess?" His flash of anger was gone, if it ever was there in the first place. Now his voice was so low she could barely hear it, even though he now was so close she could feel his warm breath on her skin. The tenderness in his voice made her suddenly ache to lean against him, to feel his arms go around her. She started to speak, not sure what would come out.

Honesty did.

"I'm afraid of _you_. Of spending a brief, wonderful time as your lover," she smiled gently, "only to be set aside when the next pretty commoner catches your fancy. I'm not built like that, Justin. I thought I could, could, accept it. Bow out gracefully, with a smile and tender goodbye kiss. But I…can't. Already the idea of you in another woman's arms makes my chest ache. How much worse will it be after we made love?" Embarrassment so great it struck her pale made her turn away, back toward the dancing, gossiping crowds behind them. Talmor said she had a gift for plain speaking. He didn't know the half of it, it would appear. 

Justin was struck silent. Not that she could blame him. They had never spoken so plainly of what had been on both of their minds since they had first met. Part of her was already mourning the fact that she was going to deny herself his bed, his sweet, tender kisses. At least now it was out in the open, she consoled herself. He wouldn't try to keep her here any longer, now that he knew. She waited for him to say something, anything, to break the painful silence. When he refused she sighed quietly and turned to face him. It was over.

"Would you take me back to the stage, please? I should get my things, head back to our wagon. Talmor wants to get an early start." 

"Yeah." She couldn't read anything in his one word reply. Defiantly, she held her head up as he escorted her back across the room to the exit behind the stage. Exit, stage left. Back to where she belonged. Her head was beginning to ache and her hands tremble with reaction. She barely heard his goodnight, knowing that it was really good bye. 

To be continued.


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight 

"Any sign of trouble?" Erik nodded to Marko and then smiled widely to a passing couple headed for the dance floor. He face was getting sore from smiling, and he wondered in passing if it really was possible for it to stick that way. And was he really fooling anyone?

"Nope. It's as quiet as a tomb out there." Marko shifted his belt more comfortably around his waist and sighed heavily. "Man, that was a bad analogy. Anyway, there's no sign of any more of those Deerborne soldiers inside or outside the castle. And, before you ask, nobody's seen a very crispy warlock walking around, either."

"Well, that's a relief." His smile became a little more authentic. Erik hadn't realized how tense he'd been. Guess he'd believed Justin's crazy story, after all.

"Your brother's sure having a good time," Marko added, apparently following his train of thought. "Isn't that the minstrel girl he was with last night?"

"I think so." Erik shrugged. "Looks like things are back to normal. Justin's chasing a pretty girl, you and I are left guarding the kingdom, and Dirk," he looked across the room to where the Blackpool contingent was. Vector was whispering something to Dirk, and then they both smiled. It wasn't a good smile. At Vector's gesture Dirk turned to face them, lifting his glass in a mock toast. Erik sighed. "Dirk is up to…what he's always up to. You sure you didn't see his people up to anything funny? He's looking especially smug tonight."

"Nope. In fact, I didn't even see them hanging around looking ominous. That's pretty strange." Marko looked around the room. "Speaking of which, where are Blackpool's knights? I thought they were in here with you guys."

"They were." Erik craned his neck, trying to see around the crowded room. People were now dancing or clumped together in small groups, making it hard to get an accurate count. But, still.. "That's weird. They were here during dinner. I don't see any of them now."

"Me, neither. Erik, I'm getting a bad feeling about this."

"Me, too. I can't imagine those guys just went to bed early," Erik agreed.

"Not to say they couldn't use their beauty sleep. What does Blackpool do, use those guys for target practice? They've got more scars than Ariel does hats."

"Yeah, I know—aw, hell. I forgot." Erik looked toward the dais. No Ariel. "I was supposed to dance with her. I just needed to check with the Captain of the Guard, and then—"

"And then you ran into me, and we've been standing here talking business for how long?" Marko concluded. "Man, you'd better go find her. And bring flowers. Women seem to like it when you bring flowers when you've screwed up. I think they've got a side deal going with the florists."

"I'm not sure flowers are gonna cut it. She was acting kind of strange, earlier. Really quiet."

"Huh. That's not like Ariel. Maybe she's getting sick."

"Well, it has been a pretty exciting couple of days. Maybe she's just tired. Funny. I always thought she lived for things like this." He waved at the Great Hall, with its elaborate wall hangings and people dressed in all their gaudy finery moving slowly through a complex dance. "Wonder where she went?"

"Maybe back to her room? I could always check with Cassandra." Marko raised his eyebrows in wordless appeal.

Erik grinned. "Sure, why don't you do that? I think we can spare you for a while." He looked over at Justin, who was still dancing, his eyes only for the slender minstrel. "I don't think even Justin expects any trouble tonight now."

"Thanks, Erik. I'll let you know if Cassandra knows anything." Erik didn't seriously think Ariel would have abandoned the party for anything less than a full-scale war, but Marko had developed a fondness for Cassandra, and his vassal deserved some time off. He nodded, and Marko turned and left, moving with more speed and grace than you would have expected from a guy his size.

That left Ariel to deal with. Erik sighed and scanned the room again. She was a nice girl, but just that—a girl, several years younger than he. They had almost nothing in common, as their disastrous picnic outside of Castle Carnage had shown him. Still, she had a sweet smile, and was undeniably pretty. Beautiful, even. And he had been thinking of her more and more often. Her silky blonde hair, her pale, creamy skin. Her figure, which seemed very nice beneath those layers of silk and satin. Marriage to Ariel might not be such a bad thing. Not that he was in a hurry to marry at all, he added hastily. But as Heir it was expected that he marry, and soon. Ariel was no worse than any of the other royal women he'd met, and nicer than most. And there would always be dragons to slay and campaigns to lead. The kind of things that let a guy out of the castle for a week or three. No, marriage to Ariel wouldn't be all that bad. Some day.

A flash of blonde hair above a silver dress caught his eye. Sure enough, it was Ariel, smiling and chatting to half a dozen young men who had formed a rough half-circle around her. They looked fascinated by everything that she had to say, and Ariel was practically glowing under the attention. An unreasoning stab of jealously went through Erik, and he cut quickly across the dance floor, his eyes never leaving his betrothed.

###

Ariel was in her element. It had taken careful planning, and help from two of her cousins, but at last she had the attention of six of the handsomest and most eligible royal men in all of Aperans. Erik might have decided that he had better things to do tonight, but that didn't mean she was going to sit an sulk, Ariel had resolved. She could still have fun, if she worked at it. There was nothing, not even the mean looks she'd gotten earlier, that a girl couldn't overcome with enough effort. Mother had taught her that.

"Gosh, but you were so brave, Reginald! Facing down one of those awful dog-creatures all by yourself!" She beamed at him, encouraging him to continue his story. The other men were waiting their turn to try to impress her, or cutting into Reggie's tale, trying to make light of it. Reggie wasn't having any of that.

"While it's true there were many soldiers around, the beast was having none of them. Again and again it lashed out at me, almost faster than the eye could follow. If it wasn't for the years of practice I have with a blade—" there were groans of derision from his fellows, "I would not have survived two minutes, I can assure you, Princess."

"That would have been too bad. Terrible, I mean. It's a good thing that that nasty wizard is dead now, huh?" She watched their faces carefully as she spoke. Erik, Justin, and their father had been acting funny all night, and, now that she thought about it, there were more soldiers around than there would be during a regular tournament. And Daddy and King Richard had disappeared right after the show, Daddy waving her away with a "not now, sweetheart, Daddy's busy" look. Someone had to know what was going on, and Ariel intended to find out who.

None of the six so much as blinked funny. Ariel sighed. Was she making something out of nothing? Daddy always said she had an over-active imagination. Maybe Erik and Justin had just had a fight. That would explain why they were acting so funny, and now that she thought about it, it seemed like she'd heard—

_There_. Across the room. A flash of deep red hair. Ariel's chest tightened in remembered fear. _Look into my crystal, Ariel. Look deep. Do you see the fire inside? _The memory made her shudder, and Ariel lost track of the conversation. Had she seen--?

There it was again. Red hair above a well-tailored black outfit. There would be deep blue, fascinating eyes in that face, eyes you could lose yourself in. She could see him lean in, speak in the ear of a woman, sharing a special secret meant for only the two of them. Ariel took a deep breath, preparing to scream.

And then he looked up at her. Why, he wasn't that nasty Deerborne at all, she realized. He was kind of plain, in fact, not exactly homely, but close. And the red hair belonged to the lady he was talking to, not to him. She was one of Blackpool's people, Ariel knew. Pretty, but kind of evil looking too. Which was what you'd expect from a Karteian ruler, really. Then the man bowed over the woman's hand and smiled. For a moment Ariel wasn't sure. There was something so familiar in that smile. It was the kind that made your stomach do flips, but not in a very nice way.

"Ariel, there you are! I've been looking for you everywhere."

Erik cut through her group of admirers to stand in front of her, blocking her view of the red-headed lady and her companion. Erik was smiling and a little flushed, his attention all for her. Should she tell Erik what she thought she'd seen? Ariel bit her lip and then smiled sweetly, playing for time.

"Well, now that you've found me, what do you intend to do with me?" It was the first thing she could think to say, but apparently she'd stumbled over her tongue again. The other men were laughing and looking embarrassed. Erik looked kind of embarrassed too, but she decided she liked him that way. She wouldn't tell him, she decided. Erik would think she was being silly ("There goes Ariel again," father would say with a sigh), but probably feel he had to go charging off to check just in case. She'd look foolish, and she would be left all alone. Again. No, she wasn't going to tell.

"Why don't we start with that dance I owe you?" Erik offered her his hand and she took it gratefully. People parted for them as they stepped onto the dance floor. They bowed to each other, then grasped hands as the music started. The woman Ariel had seen a minute ago was alone, watching them from the doorway. Had she ever been talking to someone? Ariel was no longer sure, and it didn't really matter. Erik was with her, they were together, and everything was the way it was supposed to be.

###

"Ohhh." Tessa put a hand to her forehead and winced, the world spinning slowly around her. Her headache was growing by leaps and bounds, as were the butterflies in her stomach and the shaking in her hands. What she'd first took to be signs of stress were rapidly becoming something else. One of the servants came over and she allowed herself to be lead to a chair.

"Are you sure you're all right, miss? I could ask for the healer to come—"

"No! I mean, I'll be fine, thank you. I'm just tired from the performance, that's all. Thank you for your kindness." But of course it was more than that. Could it be something as simple as illness? She couldn't remember the last time she'd been ill, but it was bound to happen sooner or later. A healer could tell her if that was all it was, but her natural reticence toward letting strangers too close made that an unappealing choice. Better to return to the security of the wagon. She rose unsteadily and headed toward what she hoped was the courtyard, unconsciously rubbing at the ants that seemed to be running over the bare skin on her arms. Sleep. She just needed sleep.

###

Sleep was the furthest thing from Darrell's mind. The young apprentice checked the hilt of his sword for the thousandth time, trying to make it look like he stood watch all the time. Of course he didn't, but hadn't he trained for hours and hours in swordplay and listened to Sir Hugh's lessons on tactics until he all but had them memorized? If anything tried to come over these walls, he'd be ready.

But nothing was going to come. At least, that's what everyone around him was saying. Darrell looked back over the wall and into the darkness. Sir Hugh wasn't so sure, and that meant he wasn't, either. And the king must have some doubts, too; Baaldorf men lined the walls along with Tronin's. Not many soldiers, but a few. The rest of the watchers were squires like himself, left to watch and wait while their knights enjoyed themselves inside. He scanned the darkness eagerly, determined not to let his knight down. Perhaps he would spot a would-be thief, attempting to enter the gates under the cover of darkness. Imagine if he were the one to discover him! Why, Sir Hugh would be—

_Wait._ Darrell leaned over the wall, holding his hands to either side of his face, trying to keep the glare from the torches from ruining his night vision. Was there something out there?

"Approach and identify yourself!" His voice cracked embarrassingly, but the words, at least, were loud and clear. The sergeant beside him jerked as if abruptly awakened, then peered out into the darkness.

"What did you see, boy?" His body went from relaxed indifference to cat-like alertness in the blink of an eye.

"There." Darrell pointed. "Movement, sir. Do you think it could be--?"

"Idiot!" A sharp smack to the back of Darrell's head sent his thoughts reeling. "That's our own guard! What's the matter, boy? Be you colorblind?" Several other men laughed at this sally, and Darrell wished ferverently that he might just wither up and die.

"But, sir, the guard—" he paused as the man slapped him again. Darrell's ears began to ring.

"Are you naysaying me, squire?"

"No sir, but the guard, sir, they travel clockwise 'round the walls. And aren't due back here for an hour, at best," Darrell hastened to explain. Whoever it was was nearly to the main gate. Ignoring the older man he leaned out and shouted again. "Identify yourselves!" There was nothing but silence.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Check the gate," the sergeant shouted down to the men below. He shot Darrell another angry look, but did, at least, appear somewhat concerned.

"It's the patrol, sir!" A tall, thin soldier, sixteen if he was a day, looked through the narrow watch panel cut into the gate. "They've been injured, sir!"

"Then what are you waiting for, lad? Let them in!" Now he wasn't bored or angry at all, Darrell saw. His own excitement at having spotted a possible threat faded to worry that something really was wrong.

"Shall I go and help them, sir?"

"Nay, boy. Stay up here and keep watch. You did well enough before," the man said grudgingly. "My men and I will take over now." He went quickly down the ladder, gesturing for several men to join them. The skinny soldier at last had the bolts undone, and now the gates swung open.

"Sergeant, they're badly hurt!" The soldier took a step backward. "Mother of us all," he whispered. Darrell leaned down, straining to hear. "Send for the healers. They're, they're—" He stopped suddenly, and for a moment Darrell didn't understand why. Then one of the men from outside the gates stepped forward. With a jerk of his arm he pulled his sword free, and only then did Darrell realize that the young soldier had been run clean through. Run through by the soldier wearing colors that were all too familiar. They were the colors of Baaldorf.

###

The sick feeling in the pit of her stomach wasn't going away. Tessa stopped to lean against a building, hoping that it was the rear of the kitchen. If it was that would mean she was almost to the southernmost stables, where their wagon was stored. Talmor, Martha, and Gregory would be there, waiting. Laughing and talking about the performance just past, and making plans for the future. She belonged with them, safe and secure among her adopted family. Anything else had been a pipe dream. Swallowing painfully past the lump in her throat, Tessa continued unsteadily across the courtyard.

Success. The rough wooden door beneath her fingers was blessedly familiar. It was shut, which was surprising. They would have known she was coming, and the door was much too heavy for a single woman to easily move. Or had they thought she would spend the night with Prince Justin? The gods knew she had certainly been considering it. Thankfully, she had come to her senses in time. Had she really thought the Greystone prince trustworthy?

Setting her staff aside Tessa grasped the handle and tugged with all her strength. It gave slightly. She could smell hay and animals, hear the whickering of horses. But where were her companions?

"Talmor? Help me with this door, won't you?" Talmor would have no embarrassing questions for her, bless him. Gregory might, but there were ways around a teenager's inquisitiveness. "Talmor?"

No answer. Tessa frowned. Could they have decided to go out to the pub and celebrate? Gregory might, she supposed, but Martha had sounded exhausted, and Talmor wouldn't have left her alone like that. So where were they?

"Martha!" Tessa pulled harder, putting all of her slight weight into it. The door rewarded her by deigning to open perhaps two handspans. It was enough. Grasping her staff tightly Tessa slid inside, straining to hear the sounds of human activity. The horses were whickering nervously, and there was a strange but somehow familiar smell in the air. Tessa took an uncertain step into the stable. "Is anyone there?"

"Your friends can't help you now, Tessa."

The voice was silken and filled with amusement, but it sent a shiver down her spine nonetheless. That trained voice didn't belong to a fellow musician; she had a good ear for voices, and would have remembered one as singular as this. Tessa took a single hesitant step forward, her fingers clenched white around her staff.

"Who are you? And where is my family?" 

"My name is Roland Deerborne, my lady. And I've come a very long ways to find you."

###

"Did you hear something?" Erik leaned his head to one side, frowning.

"Well, I think the lute player is off key," Ariel replied doubtfully. They were dancing in a slow circle around the room, moving between other couples who either smiled or frowned as their allegiances required as they passed. Between the music and the voices from the crowd, it was hard enough just to hear yourself think. Erik shook his head.

"No, it's not that. I thought I heard something from outside."

"Oh, you probably just heard one of the horses. Sometimes when they whinny it sounds just like my mother when she's waxing her legs." Ariel said it matter-of-factly, and the image _that_ left in his head was a doozy. Erik shook his head to clear it. The image wouldn't go, but…a horse whinny sounded just like a woman's scream, didn't it? Ariel had heard it, too.

"There! That was no horse, Ariel." It had been louder, this time. The two guards at the main doors turned their heads, hands going toward their swords. Erik bit his lip.

"Oh, Erik. How can you be sure? I mean, horses make noise all the time. When they're scared, or angry, or…" Ariel trailed off, her eyes growing wide. "Oh, there's not going to be any more fighting, is there?" For a moment she looked frightened and concerned, and then her features crumpled into a pout. "Oh, pooh. This means you're about to go charging off again, doesn't it?"

Erik had been thinking the same thing. It was probably nothing, just a servant girl scared by a mouse. Or a bar fight carried out into the street. The guards could handle that without him. And Ariel would be angry with him, and not without cause.

But what if it wasn't? Without thinking Erik looked for Justin. He found his brother a moment later, leaning lazily against one of the tables, a drink in his hand. Even from this distance Erik could see the tension in his shoulders as he spoke to Ariel's cousin Cedrick. His little minstrel girl was nowhere to be seen. Doubt tickled at Erik's spine. Could it be that whatever threat Justin had been trying to tell them about was about to jump on them with both feet? It seemed crazy, but…

"I have to go."

"Oh, Erik. Can't you send some of the guards, or Marko or somebody? You're always running off to save the world again." Ariel gestured widely with her arms, smacking two other dancers in the face with the wide sleeves of her dress. She continued on, oblivious. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were afraid of me!"

"Afraid of—" Erik broke off as the guards pulled their swords free and opened the outer doors. "Ariel, I'm not afraid of _anything_. Especially not a pretty little thing like you." He managed to pull most of his attention back to Ariel. She didn't look happy.

"That's it, then." She crossed her arms in front of her, her chin held high. "You just don't want to be around me. Any old excuse and there you go, charging off across the countryside, waving your old sword at dragons and wizards and icky old trolls. I think you like Prince Blackpool better than you like me. You certainly spend more time with him!" Her voice carried easily over the music and the noise of the crowd. Erik felt a flush growing up his cheeks.

"Ariel, that's not true," he said soothingly, while trying to lead her away from the worst of the crowd (and coincidentally toward the main doors). "I do like spending time with you. It's just that a prince has a lot of duties to perform. As much as I'd like to, I can't spend all my time hanging around court, drinking wine and keeping beautiful young ladies amused."

"Morgan Tronin does. Or did. And Martin Stormhold. And Reginald Hartsfall. And—"

"Okay, okay! I get the idea." Over Ariel's shoulder, Erik could see one of the two guards step into the doorway, waving someone near. Maybe it was all right after all. "But, well, our family is different. We have more responsibilities. And my father taught me that duty has to come before pleasure, no matter how nice the…pleasure…might be." He smiled warmly down at her. That ought to do it.

Ariel smiled sweetly. "Wow. Too bad your brother doesn't know about this big 'family tradition' thing. I guess it's just something you pick up when you're destined to be king. Or maybe just when you're so much better than the rest of us." She never stopped smiling, but there was a dangerous glint in Ariel's eyes that Erik hadn't seen before. "I'll tell you what, Erik. I won't bother you any more with my dumb old dancing and talking and eating. There are a dozen perfectly handsome men here," she waved her arms, almost knocking several glasses from a passing servant's tray, "all of whom would be perfectly happy to keep boring old Ariel company. I'll just go find one of them, while you go charging off to do some noble thing." She sniffed disdainfully. "I'm sure Geoffrey Blackpool won't be too busy to talk to me."

"Ariel, he's probably unconscious." The soldier had stepped out into the darkness, and hadn't returned. The remaining guard looked anxious.

"Well then, he won't be going anywhere, will he?" With the look of a woman terribly wronged, Ariel spun on one heel and swept grandly back into the crowd. Two dandies immediately came to her side and led her toward the dancing. Erik took a half step after her.

"Hey, is it just me, or is somethin' funny goin' on outside?" It was Justin, who jerked his head toward the door, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. "Thought I heard somethin' a minute ago. 'Course, it's probably nothing…" His eyes said different.

"You're right. Let's go check it out." Pushing Ariel to the back of his mind with relief, Erik turned back toward the doors. The second guard had disappeared.

No, there he was. One of the guards stepped back into sight as Erik and Justin came within arm's reach of the doors. But there was something strange about the guard. There were dark streaks on his uniform, and more on his face. His sword was still out, too. Erik moved closer. Had there been some kind of fight outside?

"Erik, watch out!"

Justin's warning came not a second too soon. The guard—one of their own!—stabbed forward with his sword, narrowly missing Erik as he dodged to one side. _What the hell?_ Erik reached for his own sword and found nothing but air. In spite of everything, tradition required that weapons be put away during Tournament dinner. And the danger was over with, wasn't it? At least that's what everyone but Justin had been saying. Erik dodged a second blow almost without thinking.

"Guards!" A couple were already moving in their direction, but his call cut easily through the noise of the crowd and a dozen more armed men, standing discretely around the periphery, spun toward him with gratifying speed. Great. Now all they had to do was survive until the guards got to them.

"Hey now! Watch it with that thing! You're like to put a guy's eye out." Justin's easy drawl had a note of strain to it. "What's the matter, you mad 'cause you missed the show?" The sound of a blade whistling through the air brought Erik's attention back to the guard.

Or guards. Now both of them were in the hall. Behind them Erik could see other men, these wearing Baaldorf colors. He jumped back as a sword nearly cut him in two. Looking around, Erik grabbed a wall torch and swung it at the guard. Sometimes fire would jolt a guy out of a spell, if that's what this was. Why else would their own soldiers…?

"Hey! Watch out, now." Justin pulled back in the nick of time, sliding his cloak off to use it as an impromptu net. He wrapped it quickly around the other guard's sword, but the man jerked it free with surprising ease. Erik waved the torch at his guard (he couldn't bring himself to say opponent), looking for signs of spellcasting in the man's face.

_His face_. Erik took an unthinking step backward, his jaw dropping. The man's face was slack and grey beneath smears of red and a thick green substance Erik couldn't identify. His eyes were cloudy and unfocused, one eye gazing blankly over Erik's shoulder as the guard took another swing. His face showed no sign of reaction when Erik dodged and thrust the torch toward him. In fact, it showed nothing at all. The guard's face was totally dead.

"Something ain't right here."

"You're just noticing that," Erik replied dryly. From behind him he could hear small cries of alarm as their fight drew the attention of the crowd.

"Yeah, well, I'm a little slow on the uptake, sometimes. Maybe it's all that wine I've been drinkin'. But the guts were a big eye-opener, Erik."

Guts? Erik glanced down. Sure enough, the man's uniform was rent, exposing what should have been his white belly. Instead, beneath the cloth was a mess of red, sticky skin and entrails. As he watched a coil slipped free with a stomach-turned squelch and dropped halfway to the floor. The guard paid no attention to what should have been an agonizing, mortal wound. Instead, he took a step forward and slashed at Erik again. This time the blade tasted blood, slicing a thin line across Erik's chest. Still the man's face showed no more expression than a dead man's.

_In the name of all the gods_. "Zombies."

"Yeah, looks pretty much like 'em to me. Wonder who we have to thank for this after-dinner entertainment?" Justin caught the other guard's sword again, jerking it free.

It could be Vector. Erik wouldn't put something like this past him. A quick glance toward the far end of the room showed him that Vector and Dirk were still here. Neither one of them looked real surprised, but… What had Vector said? The spell that killed Deerborne's men was a necromantic spell. Erik didn't know much about magic, but he knew what that meant. Death spells. Justin had been right all along.

"I think we know. Is this when I get to eat that helping of crow?"

"Heck, you don't have ta do that, Erik." A beat. "Not nearly enough folks around. What do ya say we take care of these guys first?" Justin tugged at the guard's sword, trying to free it from his cloak, as their other guards came running up. One handed Erik a sword.

"In Helene's name!" One of the men growled in surprise as they took in the uniforms of the attackers.

"They're not our men! They're zombies!" Erik ducked, wincing at the pain across his chest as he twisted and brought his own weapon up. Two guards dashed between him and Justin, headed toward the doors. A wet, gurgling sound reached them just before one of the men crumpled to the floor. A large, powerfully-built soldier in Baaldorf colors stepped over the body, his eyes vacant. A deep, horrible gash in his chest dripped dark red blood to the floor as he passed.

"Yeah, this ain't good." Justin ducked as the soldier in front of him swung a fist in a deadly roundhouse blow, then slid his sword beneath the man's arm, burying his own sword deep into the soldier's chest. It was a mortal blow.

But these weren't men, and they sure as heck weren't mortal any more. The thing snarled—the first expression Erik had seen from one of these things—and reached for the hilt, impaling itself deeper as it struggled to reach Justin the and sword handle. Justin blinked and took a step back in surprise. The thing followed.

Erik slashed at the passing Baaldorf soldier, missed, and was forced to turn his attention back to the one in front of him as it launched a series of powerful blows. He parried them without fail, but felt the shock echo down his shoulders and into his arms with each blow. Already he was growing tired, while this thing hadn't even worked up a sweat. He edged aside, letting another of their guards attack. Two on one didn't seem right, but under the circumstances he figured that didn't matter much. He parried and then attacked again, feinting and then cutting a backhanded slice deep into the soldier-thing's chest.

"Now we're even." If the thing understood it gave no sign. Instead, it snapped its teeth at him, shuffling forward while it swung yet again. The sword whistled though the air, reminding Erik of a swing from Dirk's great sword. He dodged it narrowly, feeling it snip off a length of hair. That was too close. And where was Dirk? He'd been willing to fight alongside them before when his own backside was at risk. Erik took a step back, letting the guards take over while he risked a glance back into the hall.

People were scattered everywhere. The Baaldorf soldier-zombie was cutting a wide swath through the crowd, tossing men aside like they were dolls. Then men lay were they fell.

No, that wasn't quite right. One man, his head canted to one side, his neck obviously broken, was staggering to his feet. He immediately grabbed a heavy wooden chair and swung it at his closest neighbor. A woman in an elaborate green gown fell down with a strangled cry. The man swung again, stepping onto and then over the fallen woman. All over the room the scene was now being repeated. Men and women who were clearly dead were stumbling to their feet and helping their attacker kill their own friends and family. Thunder rumbled ominously overhead.

"Erik!" His fathers voice traveled imperiously over the growing cries. "Where are the rest of our men?" Strapping on a sword, his father moved easily through the growing battle, his own personal guards deployed to either side.

"I don't know. They should be here by now!" All they had were the men in the room when the attack began, and some of those were now fighting for the bad guys. There should be half a battalion in here by now.

"Looks like they mighta got a little tied up." Justin dropped one shoulder, and a Baaldorf soldier when flying over his head to land in an awkward heap behind him. The zombie immediately began to stir.

"Then let's get those doors shut. Captain!" The captain of the guard nodded, and gestured for two of his men to follow. The three began slowly moving toward the main doors. More zombie creatures were pouring in every second. This was not good.

"Dirk! We could use a little help here!" Where were all of the Blackpool soldiers? They could help turn the tide, if Dirk would only… His thought broke off as Erik turned toward Blackpool. Though surrounded by the fighting dead, Dirk was unscathed. As if he'd been waiting for this, he slowly raised his glass toward Erik in a mocking toast, a smug smile on his face. Vector was beside him, looking a little more pasty than usual.

"Well, Erik. It looks like you've got a little trouble on your hands." Dirk had no trouble making himself heard over the din. He'd had years of shouting experience. "If I understand I correctly—and I always do—your own fallen heroes are going to help our enemy hack you to bits. Isn't that lovely?"

"Our enemy is right, Dirk! How about you lend us a hand?"

"Oh, of course. How rude of me." Dirk set down his glass and raised his hands.

And began to clap.

"Bravo! Bravo, Erik. Such bravery in the face of such certain, gruesome death. I really do admire your spirit." A body slammed to the table next to him, forcing Dirk to step away or be splashed with wine. "I'd really love to stay and watch the show, but I'm afraid Vector and I must be going."

"You'd leave your own people behind?"

"If I needed to, certainly. But my 'people' left some time ago, Erik. I'm afraid the forces of good," the words were heavy with contempt, "will have to win out the day without us." He lifted the monocle from around his chest and gave an insolent wave.

"Bye."

The monocle brightened, and Dirk and Vector were encased in a noxious green glow. A second later they were gone.

"Erik!" His father's voice cut through his stunned thoughts, and Erik realized that he'd been starring at the spot where Dirk had been for several seconds. He'd really done it. Of course, it really wasn't much of a surprise, but still…

"Yes, sir." Erik wheeled on one heel and darted back to his father's side. Their men had made it to the door. They hadn't been able to shut it yet, but at least no one else was getting in. A good thing, because it seemed like half the room was dead and fighting the other half. Not for the first time that day, he wished that Traquill were there.

"We need to get this under control. Get the women and children together, and form a ring around them. What works against these creatures?"

"Nothing that I've seen so far. Hacking them up into bits seems to slow them down." He kicked at a hand the was trying to grasp his ankle. The hand and the forearm it was attached to skittered away, leaving a bloody trail from the stump. "Though not altogether."

"Well, I'm sure there are spells that would work." Richard sighed. "But that will have to wait. I'm sure Traquill will be here when he can. For now, I want you to send someone to gather up salt. That worked on the Hell Hounds we fought. Fire might, too, but I'm loathe to set the building on fire."

"Especially with us still in it," Erik agreed. "We'll just have to cut them to pieces, sir. Marko!" Where was his vassal? Surely the guy had heard the—

"Right here, Erik. Your majesty." Marko was nodding to Erik's father while tightening his belt. "Sorry I'm late. I sort of fell asleep."

"You're here now, that's the important thing. We need to get this under control, and someone has to go round up the rest of the soldiers outside. I'll do that, while you—"

"Erik!" Both Marko and Richard spoke at the same moment, the same outraged expression on their faces.

"We need you here, son. Someone has to rally our people. They need to see you fighting these things, if they're going to gain the courage to repel them." And he was right, of course. But they really needed those reinforcements. He could send Marko, but he also needed Marko here at his side. Erik glanced around wildly. Who could he send out into such danger?

"I'll go." Justin neatly lopped off the head of his zombie opponent and turned to face them. "Father's right. You gotta stay here, Erik. These folks won't follow me, but they will you. I'll go outside, find out what's taking our guys so long."

"We don't know how many of them are out there," Erik protested. "The could be hundreds. I can't let you—"

"Oh, but it's okay for you ta go?" Justin grinned. "Don't worry, little brother. I'll try not to lose anything important. I'll just round up whoever's left, maybe some of the peasants, too. They've got a stake in this as much as we do. I'll make sure the outer walls are secure, then send in some reinforcements. Sound like a plan?"

"Yeah," Erik agreed grudgingly. "I don't like it, but," he paused as two men fought through, locked in deadly combat. "But I guess it's the best plan we've got."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." Justin's easy smile was back, though tinged with worry. At least they weren't fighting among themselves anymore, Erik thought with a sigh of relief.

"Go," their father said. "And may the gods go with you."

###

"'Roland Deerborne'." _Oh gods_. "Should that name mean something to me?" Tessa tried to keep the quaking fear from her voice but wasn't entirely successful. The thing she had feared most had come to pass, and she was alone. "I don't think we've met."

"Not in a very long time." Boot steps on the stone floor, muffled by the straw that littered the ground. He was perhaps a dozen paces away, his voice clear and strong. A trained voice, yes. But not trained in singing… The horrible sensations she'd felt before swept over her, much stronger this time, and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out.

"I must say you've put up quite a good chase, Tess. But it's time to come home now." The calm, almost pleasant tone was somehow worse than the dark threats she'd been expecting.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm a _bard_. A traveling musician. I don't have a home. And certainly not one with you." She wanted it to sound disdainful, but the last sentence sounded more like a small child pitching a fit.

"Oh, but that's not true, is it? Come on, Tess. You must remember. Remember all the parties? Your mother loved to give them. All the fine gowns, the food…nothing like what you've been living off of these last few years." He snorted derisively. "Frankly, I'm surprised you survived this long. But that's all over now. Your father wants you to come home, Tessa."

"My father?" The words stuck in her throat. "Now I know you're mistaken. I've never met my father. My mother always said that he was a wandering knight, but you know the tales women tell. He was probably just a peasant, or perhaps a tax collector." That was a lie. Her mother—who she could remember only vaguely—had never spoken of a father at all. "I'm not the one you're looking for." She took a step backward, every muscle screaming at her to run, run far away.

"Oh, I'm afraid you are. But, come now. It's not so bad. Your father has missed you, Tess. And so has your brother."

"My brother?" She was an only child, of course she was. So why did the mention of a brother…

"Your twin. He doesn't have your wonderful talents, but he has some rather…interesting gifts of his own. He's looking forward to seeing you again." Something in his voice suggested that it was a meeting she would probably best avoid.

"No. I don't believe you." Oh, but she did. "Justin said you were looking for a royal witch. Well, I'm neither!" She pulled the tin tiara from her head and threw it aside. "I'm nothing but a bastard minstrel girl dressed up in last year's curtains. You've made a mistake, wizard!"

"No, I haven't. And I'm afraid you're much more than that. You really don't know, do you? He said that you didn't, but after the way you positioned yourself with the local royalty and took out my Hell Hound, I just assumed… Well, it doesn't really matter. You'll come home with me, and everything will be made clear. Your father has such plans for you." He sounded pleased at the prospect.

"If he's anything like you, I want nothing to do with him! You're disgusting. A foul, vile man who smells of nothing but _death_." As her fear grew she could feel the power that had always been inside her come awake. It twisted and squirmed in her head like a living thing, begging to be released. As if at the thought, thunder rumbled low and deep overhead. She flinched.

If she'd hoped to anger him with her insults she was disappointed. He laughed delightedly.

"Such a little spitfire! It's nice to see you've got some of your father's spirit, as well as your mother's beauty." He took a step forward. "But enough of this. It's time to go, Tessa."

"No! I'm not going anywhere with you!" she spat at him and took a step backward.

"_Enough_. I grow tied of this game, Tessa. You're coming home with me. Now." He took another step forward, and the noxious power around him grew stronger. It now tingled across her skin like burning ants, and she forced her arms to stay at her sides with an effort. "Or do you really think your little boy toy Greystone will protect you? When they find out _what you are_…"

"No." Some terrible revelation was coming, one that Tessa devoutly did not want to hear. She clapped her hands to her ears. "Shut up! I don't believe anything you say!"

"No? Then how do you explain the things you can do, 'minstrel girl'? How do you explain that your father, my master, knew you the moment he first scryed you six months ago? How do you explain that the Hell Hounds that I sent out, _searching for a witch of royal blood_, unerringly found _you_? You know what you really are, 'minstrel.' The time for games is over."

"NO!" Unwanted images flooded her head. A little girl in a silk dress, playing with her dolls while behind closed doors mummy and daddy fought. Liveried servants who saw to the little girl's every need, but always with the slightest tinge of disgust for who she was. For…_what_ she was? "Shut up! I don't want to hear this!" Thunder rumbled in the distance. 

"But you will. My master, your father, is far too powerful to disobey. And, even if you were to try, where would you go? To that fool of a playboy? Once he and his family know the truth about you, they'll kill you themselves. That's a promise, Tessa. What you are, what your father made you, _terrifies_ them. They'll stop at nothing to destroy you. Your mother knew that. That's why she warned you never to reveal--"

Tessa nodded unwillingly, still desperate to deny everything. "No one was ever supposed to know. But—"

"But _nothing_. You are one of us. You _belong_ with us. Together we will rule not just Aperans, but the world. We'll wipe out these weak fools and set ourselves up like gods. Like _gods_, Tessa! And all you have to do is come with me. Come with me, Tessa." He was within arm's reach now, his personal power and magnetism almost overwhelming.

And what if he was right? Even if the royals didn't kill her they would surely lock her up, lock her away behind steel bars and never, ever let her go. And Justin? She was a fool to think he would—or even _could_—protect her against his own kin. She would be caught, spit upon, killed-- Her throat contracted in a spasm of fear. And her father, the father she never knew she had, _wanted_ her. Perhaps with him she would finally be free to learn to fully use the gifts the gods had given her. To stop denying what she was. She could be _free_.

And damned. Images flooded her mind of the horrors this man had brought. Justin lying weak and dying in her arms. The piteous cries of the injured, harmed by those horrible Hell Hounds. The poor servant girl Emily. The slow and tortured deaths of his own men. Evil the soldiers might well have been, but no one deserved to die like that. Whatever her father was, whatever this Deerborne man was, it was wrong.

Evil.

Her lips tightened and her chin lifted. The fear was still there, but finally she knew what she had to do. No more running. No more hiding.

It was time to take a stand.

He must have seen her decision in her face. "If that's the way you want it." The pleasant voice was gone, leaving only steel behind. "To be honest, I was rather hoping you'd say no. I've been dying to see what you've got."

"Good choice of words." Fear fell away from her like a discarded cloak, replaced by a cool, icy detachment. With a sense of relief she allowed the tight control she'd held over her growing powers to relax. Images and sensations instantly flooded her mind, showing her the whirlpool of energies racing across the sky above her and the more muted energy of the horses in their stalls. Deerborne was there in front of her, a font of almost unimaginable power rippling with the mental stench of decay. From behind him, where she knew their wagon to be, she could sense something else. Familiar, though she'd never felt anything like this before, and fading slowly. Three separate fading sources. Her face went white and slack as realization hit.

"Yes, of course _they_ had to go. You've grown up on foolish sentimentality. The only way to break you of that nasty habit was to eliminate the source." He was so smug, damn him. "If you're very good, I'll let you be the one to do Greystone."

"You killed them," she whispered. A wind stirred at her feet, but she didn't notice. "You killed my family." Power rippled across her body, tingling at the fingers and toes. It demanded release. Thunder crackled overhead, deafening.

"Yes." Just that one word. So arrogant, unafraid. He was dying to know what she could do, was he?

"Time to pay." The power burst from her skin in a flood, and it was a relief to go with it. Lighting flashed in the stable, filling the air with its tang and sending the horses into a panic. Wind whipped at her skirts and the stable walls groaned as if in sympathy. Even the earthy beneath her feet felt alive. She gathered up the power and flung it at her tormentor, heedless of the cost.

###

_She had come to see him_. He couldn't quite believe it, even as Ariel lifted the mug of chaffa to his lips. Geoffrey held himself up on unsteady arms as the Baaldorf princess carefully tilted the mug. A little ran down his cheeks, but who cared about that? She took the cup away and he sank gratefully back onto the narrow cot, his gaze never leaving her lovely face.

"There. That does it." Pulling a silk handkerchief from her sleeve, Ariel dabbed at his face delicately. "Feeling better?"

"Much, thank you." Food and drink wasn't sitting with him too well just now, though Vector had warned him to eat if he wanted to regain his strength. Add to that the tightness in his chest from just looking at Ariel, and well, "I feel great."

"That's good. We wouldn't want you to die on us or anything, would we." Her expression faltered. "I mean, even if you are the enemy and all." She looked uncertain. "Maybe coming here wasn't such a good idea. You should see the way the guards looked at me! And what they call frisking, well, it's plenty frisky, let me tell you!"

"I'm not your enemy," he said quickly. "I mean, well, your family is fighting with mine, yes, but that doesn't mean you and I can't be friends, does it?" Dirk would blow his top if he heard Geoffrey say that, but pretty much everything he said or did made Dirk angry. "And I'd really like us to be friends, Ariel."

"Well, you are handsome and all, and you do give great birthday presents. And I, well, we had a nice time together on my birthday, didn't we? Right up until that whole kidnapping and lets-blow-up-the-kingdom thing, anyway."

"I didn't know about the firecon, Ariel. I give you my word." Dirk hadn't told him that the gift he was bringing to Ariel had a weapon inside. He couldn't very well have objected even if he'd known—they were at war, after all—but secretly he was glad the plan hadn't worked. Killing all those women and children in the castle didn't seem right. They weren't soldiers, were they? But, as Dirk pointed out all the time, Geoffrey wasn't exactly the smartest of guys. There was probably a good reason for it.

"Really? I mean, I know you said that before, but—"

"Really." Greatly daring, he reached out and took her hand. "Look, we don't have to talk about all of that. Why don't you tell me about yourself, Ariel? We don't really know each other very well, do we?"

Ariel smiled happily. "No, I guess not. You know, all I really know about you is that your family is kind of creepy. But with a wonderful sense of fashion! I love all those leather things, and the chains that your brother wears." She sighed. "And you know how to listen to a lady, unlike some other princes I could name." Her nose wrinkled delicately. "Okay. What would you like to talk about?"

"Anything." _Anything that will keep you here with me, princess. _

"Well," she bit her lip, seeming pleased with the attention, "I really don't see why we have to fight all the time. I mean, the soldiers' uniforms are nice and all, and I like the banners and the sword practices, and it's all very exciting, but…" She trailed off, nibbling at one delicate lip, an equally delicate frown on her face. "But it seems awfully icky, when you get right down to it. So…messy. I thought I was going to throw up when I first saw them bring you in. No offense," she added as an afterthought.

"None taken. That's pretty much the way I felt, too." Ariel's gaze had dropped unthinkingly to his stomach, which was still swathed in thick bandages. Vector had healed him, more or less, but had warned him not to move around too much. If Geoffrey did, he'd "split wide open like an overcooked sausage and waste all my hard work," as the wizard had put it. And, truthfully, Geoffrey hadn't felt much like getting up and charging the ramparts, or whatever it was that Dirk was expecting him to do, anyway. Mostly what he wanted to do was lie here and wait for his insides to stop sloshing around every time he moved. Ariel's gaze moved higher, and he abruptly realized that he'd at some point pushed the sheet down to his waist, and was now for all extents and purposes naked from the waist up. Hot embarrassment flooded his cheeks, and as he looked at Ariel to apologize only to see her own cheeks flush a delicate pink.

"I mean, being hurt and all. Though I know what you mean about war. It does get kind of messy, sometimes." Geoffrey tugged at the sheet, but it refused to budge. Ariel was sitting on it, oblivious. She'd pulled her hand free and was now looking down at her nails. Avoiding his gaze, she began polishing one of them fiercely with the hem of her skirt. '_It gets kind of messy?' Oh that's brilliant. Got any more witty remarks? Maybe you could offer to show her your etchings_. The snide voice in his head, which sounded suspiciously like Dirk's, was just getting warmed up. _Not that it makes any difference. She's betrothed to Greystone. A _firstborn_ son. Heir to Camarand, and all that. You're nothing but a… _

"Did you hear that?" Geoffrey sat up, the sharp, sudden pain making the voice inside his head shut up. _If that's all it takes, I ought to do this more often._

She looked up and rose quickly, the movement sending shards of pain through his belly. "I'm sure it's nothing. That's funny. I wonder why Erik hasn't taken care of things yet? He's usually so good about saving us, you know." She looked nervously around the small room.

"Erik? What are you talking about?"

"Oh, just another bad guy or something. Erik and I were dancing when he heard some kind of noise outside. He left me standing there so he could go play hero again. I mean, what are soldiers for, anyway? I figured he'd have it all solved by now."

"I'm sure I heard it that time. Some kind of scratching noise. I thought maybe it was a rat, but…there! Did you hear it?" Ariel's eyes grew wide as she nodded, the scarves on her hat bobbing wildly. With a grimace of effort Geoffrey slid his legs to the side of the cot. The world spun briefly, and when it stopped Ariel was holding his arm.

"I'm sure it's nothing."

"You don't believe that."

"No, but I'm sure someone will take care of it. One of the guards, or something. You're hurt. You should stay here. And protect me." The last slipped out through lips taut with fear. So she could feel it, too. The sudden silence was filled by a sound of a window sash being raised and then a wet, meaty thud.

"I…I can't. I have to check it out. With the music and all the people inside, no one else is going to hear it. Do you see my sword around here anyplace?"

"What's it look like? And, well, what about the guards? They're supposed to keep the bad guys out. The ones who aren't already dead, I mean. If there are any. My father says he thinks that they all—"

"Shhh." Soft, wet footsteps, just outside the rear door. Geoffrey looked around frantically. They'd stripped off what was left of his shirt and taken off his boots, but surely they wouldn't have thrown away—

"Ah-hah!" With a triumphant smile Ariel reached into a crate and withdrew…an eating dagger. "Oh, poop. What did you say it looked like?"

"Bigger than that. Thicker, too, with a nice, big, pointy end." Geoffrey gestured, turning painfully to face her. Ariel nodded earnestly. She cast her gaze around and then stopped, her eyes locked over his left shoulder.

"Eep. Be-be-behind you. Oh, gross." Looking both horrified and fascinated, Ariel gestured with the dagger. Out of the corner of his eye Geoffrey saw something move and dove off the cot, crashing into Ariel and sending them both tumbling to the floor. For a brief second he enjoyed the sensation of Ariel so close to him, and then he was rolling to one side as a massive axe thundered down where he'd been just a split second before. Ariel squeaked again and began to scoot backward on her rump, her mouth open in shock. She'd dropped the dagger in her fall, and Geoffrey reached out and scooped it up, the movement sending spikes of pain into his belly. The axe was wrenched back up, leaving a deep crevasse in the tiles. Geoffrey pushed himself up into a seating position and looked up at his enemy, knowing that he'd only get one chance.

"Oh my god…"

To be continued.


	9. Chapter Nine

It had to be a bad dream. Darrell pushed at the horse, but it stubbornly refused to move from its place across his legs. Thunder rumbled overhead, sounding just like the pounding in his head felt. He pushed his hair back out of his face, wincing as his hand brushed over the gash on his forehead. He shoved at the horse again, then lay back in the dirt, exhausted. The horse was dead, killed by the things wearing Baaldorf uniforms that had attacked them not long before. For better or worse, whatever evil spell animated them didn't work on horses. Which meant that he wasn't in danger of being stomped to death by an angry zombie horse. But it also meant that he was pinned, easy pickings for whoever noticed a simple squire laying flat-out in the courtyard. He bit his lip, trying earnestly not to panic. Someone would come. Sir Hugh, even. Surely they would hear the noise from inside the hall and come running.

Unless they were dead, too. The idea of Sir Hugh lying dead somewhere did what his own plight could not. His chest tightening, Darrell blinked rapidly, trying to force his coward's tears away. It wasn't supposed to end like this. It wasn't fair! Locked in his own misery, he didn't hear the sound of approaching boots until they were nearly on top of him. Was it friend or foe? He gripped his sword tightly. If it was the enemy, at least he could die fighting. The boot steps came to a stop behind him.

"Don't I know you from somewheres?" The voice was reassuringly familiar. "I know! You're that fella that's gonna win me some money some day. You a knight yet?" The man moved around to where Darrell could see him. It was Prince Justin Greystone, the boy saw with relief. And while it looked like he'd been in a fight, he was very clearly still alive.

"I'm, I'm…still working on that," Darrell replied lamely.

"Well, looks like you'll get plenty of practice tonight, that's for sure. C'mon, fellas, let's get this nag off of him." The prince himself knelt beside Darrell, and with the help of two Greystone soldiers rolled the horse off of him. Darrell's legs began to tingle as the blood started to flow freely again. He sat up quickly, only to have the world spin slowly around him.

"Easy, now. Take a minute. Looks like we've got time." Prince Justin patted him companionably on the shoulder.

"Sire, monsters, they've broken in," Darrell began.

"Yeah, we saw a few of 'em just a while ago. Nasty looking guys, ain't they?" The prince's eyes were scanning the courtyard. "Guess they figured this area was all cleaned out. You see where our guys went?"

"Several of them died in the first attack. It wasn't their fault, sire. The monsters wore Baaldorf and Greystone uniforms. We weren't expecting—" 

"I know, I know," the prince said soothingly. "Wasn't nobody expecting anything like this. Not even me." A shadow seemed to cross his face and was gone again. Thunder roared overhead and lightning briefly lit the courtyard. The prince flinched. Was he afraid of something so simple as a summer storm? "You haven't seen a little minstrel girl out here, have you? Blonde, 'bout so high? Real pretty, but a little on the mouthy side?" 

"No, sire." Apparently the rumors about Prince Justin weren't all wrong. He was thinking of a woman at a time like this?

"Ah, well." Prince Justin frowned. "Guess we'll find her soon enough." He looked up at the sky, frowned again. "In the mean time, we got a castle to defend. You think you're up to lendin' a hand?"

"Yes, sire!" Darrell struggled to his feet, accepting the prince's offered hand. His head swam for a moment, then settled down. Darrell sheathed his sword and looked up at the prince expectantly. The half dozen men around him did the same.

"Thomas, Marshall, you two secure these gates. I don't want anybody getting in here, you got that?" The men nodded, then spun and ran for the open gates. With quick efficiency they closed and barred them while the prince continued. "The rest of you guys are with me. We're gonna start a sweep, see who else we can pick up. You see which way the zombies went, kid?"

So that's what they were. Another thing he'd thought his mother had made up to scare him into childhood obedience. He nodded. "Toward the south." He touched the wound on his head. "I don't remember where after that."

"Good enough. Okay, south it is. We're gonna check every stable and outer building as we go. We need to find these things, and we really need to find us some reinforcements."

"Most of the knights are in the hall, aren't they, sire?" Darrell asked as they started to walk southward.

"Yeah, lot of them are. 'Course, since this is Tournament and all, and nobody was expectin' trouble," his voice went sour at that, "not a one of 'em is wearing more than a shortsword. Most of 'em, and all of the nobility, ain't wearing nothing more imposin' than an eating dagger." There were some mutters at that, but Darrell understood perfectly. Tournament truce, especially during formal events like a dinner, was one of their oldest customs, designed as a way for the bitterest of enemies to come together without worry of attack. Sir Hugh said that was the real prize to be won: peace. He had explained that men who could lay down their swords for a brief time could learn to lay them down for good, if they tried hard enough.

It didn't seem to be working very well this time. Darrell tried to look every way at once as they made their way quietly along the wall. He could hear voices raised in anger and fear in the distance, but around them there was nothing but silence. He wiped his sweaty palm against his tunic, then gripped his sword hilt again.

"Man, I really don't like this." Prince Justin paused as they approached the tavern that had been set up for the tournament. Torches still flickered inside, but there was no other sign of life. The prince rubbed the back of his neck and then gripped the hilt of his own weapon. "You boys better get ready. A bar this quiet, you know there's trouble brewin'." Darrell could see nothing out of the ordinary—save that the popular tavern was apparently empty—but he readied his weapon with the rest of them. A sharp breeze tugged at their cloaks, making them crack and twist in the uncanny quiet.

"This thing gets started, you just stay behind me, you got that?" The prince's voice was low but calm. Darrell nodded, his eyes widening. The attack at the gates had been over before he'd fully understood what was happening. This time he knew what was coming. It didn't make him feel any better.

They started forward slowly, weapons drawn. Thunder rumbled almost constantly overhead, setting his nerves even further on edge. He could almost feel the tension building, like the air before a twister. A crackle of lightning lit up the sky without warning, making him jump. Darrell shot a glance at the sky. Was the very weather their enemy now? A second lightning bolt arced across the sky, illuminating a sudden movement. Darrell stared at it blankly. What--?

"Here they come!" A rough hand shoved him to the cobblestones as something fell from the sky to land in front of him. The smell of rot filled the air. A second thud, then another. Darrell rolled to one side and then to his feet. He looked up at the figure standing in front of him, expecting to see another of their fallen comrades rising to fight them.

"By all the gods there ever were," he whispered through lips gone cold and numb. "What is this?" The thing standing in front of him wasn't one of their soldiers. It wasn't a man at all, but a rotting _thing_ with a fierce horned helmet and the remnants of a strange black uniform.

"Kind of figured we'd be seein' them again," Prince Justin said casually. Darrell felt himself lifted up by the belt and deposited behind the prince. "Watch my back, will ya?" Before Darrell could thing of a suitable reply the battle was joined. His hands tight on the hilt of his sword, he watched as yet another zombie jumped from the top of the wall to land with a meaty thud nearby. There were so many of them! He wanted desperately to run, but instead took a step forward, raising his weapon. One of the things did the same. Now he'd see if all that practice would really keep him alive.

###

After a second the shock wore off and Geoffrey realized what they were facing: a zombie. Had one of Vector's spells gone awry, or was this the new wizard Vector had been so worked up about? It didn't really matter, he guessed. Either way, the thing didn't seem interested in a game of barcoli. He forced himself to be calm, reaching out to squeeze Ariel's hand reassuringly. _Think, Geoffrey, think_. 

The horror shambled toward them, its axe raised. It shouldn't have been able to see at all—Geoffrey was reasonably certain the white lumps tricking slowly down its green and decayed cheeks were eyes—but it tracked them effortlessly as he and Ariel tried to edge toward the door. They already knew that it was impossibly strong: the crevasse in the tile was as deep as his thumb. What he was counting on was that it was slow. Another few steps and they'd be at the door. Beyond was the Great Hall, hopefully filled with big guards armed with really big swords. 

"Rrrraugh!" The creature had apparently read his intent, or maybe was just eager to play. It lunged forward, axe blade flashing in the torch light. Geoffrey jerked back and felt a stinging sensation as its axe drew a line in red down his chest. That had been too close. He held up the eating dagger, feeling pretty stupid doing it. What was he going to do, challenge it to an eating match? Ariel was right behind him, her hands clinging tightly to his shoulders.

"Ariel?"

"Yes?" The voice was a small mouse squeak.

"Maybe you should go for help. I think the door's right behind you."

"But if I move, he'll see me. He'll see me and come after me. He'll ruin my dress."

Geoffrey heard the things she couldn't say. "I know you're scared. But I won't let him hurt you, Ariel." She was a Baaldorf. The Enemy. And without a doubt he meant every word. "Go on. Go get help."

"Okay. Don't you let him get me, Geoffrey." Her fingers tightened on his shoulders for a moment and then she was gone.

And he was alone. The thing was readying its axe again. It lifted the massive blade over its head and Geoffrey saw something interesting. Its hands, like the rest of it, were slimed with decay, defacing everything it touched. Everything, including the axe handle it held. It was well coated with the…stuff, which meant—

"It's locked!" Ariel beat frantically on the door. "Come on! Somebody, open this door! Right now!" A thud, like the sound of a dainty slipper meeting heavy oak. "Ow. Geoffrey, help me!"

"I'm a little busy at the moment." He ducked and the blade whistled over his head. Barely. Sure enough, the axe handle slipped in the creature's hands as it finished its swing. If he could just surprise it at the right instant, it might loosen its grip on the axe handle a little. And little was all it would take.

_Oh, who are you kidding? That thing is going to make diced tadmon out of you. It's bigger, it has the only real weapon, and by the way, isn't that your own blood you feel?_ Geoffrey glanced down and saw that his exertions had reopened his wounds. Blood was seeping through the bandages and trickling down his bare skin in warm rivulets. _Great_. _You're injured, weaponless_ (the eating dagger didn't really count, did it?_), and barefoot. Just another fun night in the life of Geoffrey Blackpool. _

"Geoffrey!"

The creature bared its teeth and began to raise its weapon. Geoffrey tensed. This was going to hurt. A lot. As the axe reached the apex of its swing he leapt forward, driving his shoulder into the gut of the monster. It let out a grunt of surprise (which smelled about as good as he'd have expected) and something hit the floor behind him with a metal clang. A surge of triumph shot through him.

And was gone just as quickly as it had arrived. Large, slime-coated hands settled around his throat and lifted him off of his feet. He couldn't breathe, and a loud buzzing sound started to fill his ears. Its hands were buried so tightly that he couldn't get the purchase necessary to tear them away. He was choking to death!

Belatedly he remembered the dagger. He'd stuffed it in his waistband before he attacked. Was it still…? Yes! Geoffrey withdrew the narrow blade and buried it into the belly of his attacker. That should—

Have absolutely no effect. The creature continued to squeeze, jerking him from side to side in the air like a cat toy. _Oh, that's good. Try to kill the dead, Geoffrey. What a wonderful idea_. Dirk's voice was a mocking sneer in his head. _Yeah, well,_ _I don't hear you coming up with any great ideas_, he told the voice. _You're so smart, why don't _you_ come up with a plan? _

_How about dying? You seem to have a good start on that one already_. The buzzing in his ears was growing louder. Great black flowers bloomed in front of his eyes, and Geoffrey felt his grip on the small dagger begin to slip. Dirk was right. Dying was apparently one thing he _was_ good at.

###

"Very impressive." And it was. The girl possessed an amazing amount of raw power. A pity for her she hadn't the first idea of how to use it. Enough power to level a city, properly used, had simply slid off his wardings and dissipated into the air around them. Raising his voice to be heard over the howling winds, Roland Deerborne continued. "But you can't harm me, Tessa. Nothing you can do will keep me from taking you back to my master." He gestured, and a gossamer web appeared out of thin air and, ignoring the wind, wrapped itself tightly around the girl. She gave a cry of disgust and began to writhe frantically, trying to free herself.

"Get this off of me!" Her voice was pure fear and loathing, and he drank it in greedily. The webs clung to her slender body, emphasizing its slight curves. Where it touched bare skin he could feel her shrink away in atavistic loathing. She struggled in vain, too panicked to do anything but pull physically at her bindings. He walked toward her, smiling. This was well worth all the effort he'd put into the chase.

"Soon," he whispered in her ear. "I promise, you'll be free of it soon enough, cousin." He ran a finger across the curve of her cheekbone and his smile widened as she jerked away. "You don't care for my touch? I think that will change, in time. You and I are going to be very close, Tessa. Very close indeed." He caressed her cheek again, then let his hand run down over her neck and breasts. She cried out and he hissed in pleasure. "Oh, Tess, the things we'll do."

"Never." It was almost a sob, but it proved what he'd suspected. Beneath her delicate outward appearance lay a soul of steel. Just like daddy. It was going to be an exquisite pleasure breaking her to his master's will. "I will see you dead, I swear I will." One lovely tear spilled down her cheek. He ran his tongue over it. It tasted of fear and defeat.

"I don't think so. Shall I tell you how your little friends died?" There was still so much pain he could draw from her, if he tread carefully. "They died screaming, Tess. Cursing your name for ever having crossed their pathetic little paths. The old man I saved for last, so he would have the pleasure of watching those he loved best succumb to my tender mercies. By the time I finally took his life he was begging for death." He drank in the mental scent of her grief and despair. It was a heady brew. Sliding his hands around her waist, he bent and nuzzled her neck. "Wait 'till I show you what you can do with your talents, my dear." The same touch that could heal could create sensations of perfect ecstasy…or perfect agony. Or both at once, to make things all the more fun. He would enjoy teaching her those tricks.

"I think I have an idea already." She turned her head toward him and smiled. Before he had a chance to react, lightning danced across his nerve endings, numbing his skin and sending him stumbling back from her. A lightning bolt sang down, and he was forced to roll to the side to avoid being hit. A moment later he was back on his feet, watching her warily. "What's the matter, wizard, rat got your tongue?"

"You are tasty," Roland replied, smiling. His nerve endings still tingled from her attack, but it had done him little harm. That lightning bolt would have, however. He'd gotten careless, lost in his fantasies. It was time to get back to business. "Some day you might be able to play in my league. But not today, Tess." His web still held, and he backed away carefully to where he'd left his preparations. There would be plenty of time to play after he had her safely in his master's control. From behind a bale of hay he pulled a black satchel. One eye still on the struggling girl, he began the careful preparations that would open a portal into his master's lands. Another few minutes and he'd have the girl safely home.

Then the fun would really begin.

###

Things weren't looking good. Justin parried and then dropped to one knee as a blow from behind missed his head narrowly. He was back up on his feet just in time to meet another blow, and then was forced to duck again as the zombie behind him continued its attack. He risked a quick look around for the kid. Had he had the sense to make a run for it when things got tough?

Nope. There he was, his back to the wall, fighting against one of Deerborne's dead guys that wasn't a lot bigger than the kid was. The boy had guts, you had to give him that. Too bad he wasn't likely to live long enough to get that knighthood he'd been hoping for. Heck, at this rate none of them were going to live very long.

The dozen or so initial Deerborne soldiers had been joined by several of their victims, and the longer the fighting went on the tougher it got to be to tell friend from foe. None of them were unscathed, and most had nasty bits of green slime on them from a close encounter or two. It slowed them down some, as nobody wanted to swing on a still-living friend. Trouble was, there were fewer and fewer of those to be found. They'd picked up a few once the fighting started, but there were still a whole lot of men unaccounted for, and way too many zombies for comfort.

Justin forced his attention back to his opponent. About the only thing these things had against them was that they were a little on the slow side. If he kept his cool, a guy could parry most of their blows pretty easy. Of course, _they_ never got tired, and they were a lot stronger than any normal man. And there were more of the darned things than there were living fighters. He hoped that Erik had been able to get a handle on things inside. At this rate there weren't going to be any reinforcements. With a grunt he decapitated one of the zombies, and had the satisfaction of seeing it tumble to the ground. Of course, that didn't stop the thing, but it sure slowed it down some. Careful to watch his feet, Justin turned toward his second opponent.

"Ow!" The thin, boyish cry carried over the low grunts of combat. As Justin watched, the zombie the kid had been fighting pulled back its sword, now tipped in red. The kid was grabbing at one shoulder, but still holding his weapon. Good boy. Justin buried a kick deep into the guts of the thing in front of him then turned and ran toward the kid. As he got close the zombie turned to face him and he nailed it with a flying tackle. The thing grabbed his head and smashed it into the cobblestones. Justin saw stars. Maybe this hadn't been such a bright idea after all.

###

The black flowers were threatening to become one thick sheet of darkness. Geoffrey struggled to breathe, his fingers tugging frantically at the massive hands wrapped around his throat. Was Dirk right? Was he really going to die this way? And what about Ariel? With him gone the thing would have her for lunch. The thought of that gave Geoffrey an unexpected burst of energy. Bringing his knees up sent a wave of agony through his guts, but he grit his teeth and ignored the pain. Closing his eyes, Geoffrey counted to five and then kicked out with all of his remaining strength. The impact made him groan in pain, but it did loosen the creature's grip enough for him to take a few greedy gasps of air. The air cleared his mind and Geoffrey's thoughts began to race.

What had he heard about the undead? The voice in his head was right. Stabbing them didn't work. Why couldn't he have paid more attention to Vector's lectures, he moaned to himself. He was so _stupid_.

"Geoffrey!" Ariel's voice was filled with panic. And it should be, too. Once he was dead, she was next on the monster's dance card, and she was bright enough to know it.

"No." He mouthed the word, his swollen throat unable to draw more than a trickle of air past the thing's choke hold. He wasn't going to die like this, and neither was Ariel. With an effort he withdrew the blade from the zombie's belly and brought it up in a swinging arc, burying it in the monster's forearm. Geoffrey twisted the hilt and heard bones snap with a satisfying crackle. The creature was strong, but he was no slouch in that department himself. And he'd just remembered one of the ways to stop the undead.

Hack them to bits.

The grip on his throat loosened and he managed a wheezing gasp as he twisted again and then jerked the blade to the side, slicing through tendon and flesh. The blade came free, as did one of the creature's hands. It left his neck and swung uselessly from the thing's arm, hanging by bits of rotted muscle. Now all he had to do was cut off the other hand and he'd be able to—

_Thud_. The wall came up and hit him suddenly from behind, knocking the little wind Geoffrey had out of him. Ariel screamed right in his ear and went back to throwing herself frantically against the door. The creature, who had apparently thrown him the length of two men with its one remaining arm, was stalking slowly toward him. It raised its one good hand toward him and smiled. Geoffrey shuddered.

"Ariel, now would be a good time to get that door open."

"Don't you think I know that? I'm not THAT dumb!" Ariel shot him an angry, panicky glance before throwing herself at the door again.

"I never said you were, I only meant—"

_Thump._

How had it moved so quickly? Geoffrey shook his head, trying to clear it. One big, noxious hand was once again around his neck, this time slamming him back against the wall with enough force to rattle his teeth. With dismay he realized that the impact had knocked the blade from his hand. Where was it? He couldn't see it anywhere. Ariel was screaming, her hands held out in front of her as if to ward off the horror.

"Ariel, you and I are going to forge the first battlefield accord between the Blackpools and the Baaldorfs in a very long time." It hurt like the very devil to talk, but at least the monster wasn't trying to choke him this time. _Thud_. No, it was going to batter him to death against the stone wall. Much better.

"Huh?" Ariel dropped her hands and looked at him blankly, her hysterics momentarily forgotten.

"Because you are going to get away from that door and _find me a weapon_! Something!" _Thump_. "_Any_thing!"

"Okay, okay! Geez, you don't have to yell." Ariel sniffed and edged away cautiously. The monster didn't care. It thumped him against the wall again, and blood filled his mouth again. He spat it out and managed a deep breath.

"Ariel!"

"Okay!" A bedpan—thankfully empty—flew through the air and hit the monster with a clang. "Go away! Get out of here!" A wooden bowl and a serving ladle followed, thrown with impressive accuracy but to little effect. "You weren't invited! You're rude, and disgusting, and, and, you smell bad!" A bottle of lamp oil burst over both of them, its pungent odor acting on Geoffrey like smelling salts. His head cleared (as much, the nagging voice would say, as it ever did), and something clicked.

Lamp oil. Oil.

_Fire. _

###

The human monster who called himself Roland Deerborne whistled cheerfully as he finished whatever magical preparations he'd been working on. Try as she might, Tessa hadn't been able to pry so much as a single strand of the horrible web from her body. She'd been forced to stand there, helpless, enduring first his taunts and then his unbearable caress. Now he was still, whispering words that she couldn't quite hear. Words that nonetheless sent shivers down her spine. He'd said that he was taking her to his master—to her _father._ But how? Desperately she reached out with every sense she possessed, trying to understand what this monster had in store for her.

"Hear me, my master." Something pattered to the floor like small stones and the smell of incense filled the stable. "Hear me," he repeated. "I bring gifts of death, and of vitality." Something small—it sounded like a puppy—whimpered pitifully. A damp mist caressed her skin, at odds with the blowing wind. There was a long silence.

"My master, I have done as you asked. Will you not answer your servant?" Tessa had a brief moment to hope that something had gone wrong. Then the small whimper became a squeal that cut off abruptly and she smelled the hot tang of fresh blood. _Oh, you poor little— _

Her sympathy was short lived. A second later Tessa was on her knees, screaming, as a dull knife slashed through the world that she knew. Something cold tore at reality, forcing it to split apart like some monstrous child insisting on being born. She screamed again as the energy that came from Deerborne melded with something, some_one_, else. It spread like a sickness, tearing at reality and leaving a gaping wound through which something vile peered. Her entire body shuddered at the brutal invasion.

"_Speak_. And make it snappy." She had thought Deerborne a monster beyond description, but he was nothing compared to the owner of that voice. It was madness and death and decay, intertwined with a gleeful understanding that made her want to vomit. She writhed on the ground, feeling the world around her scream at what had been done to it.

"I have done as you asked, Master. I have found the girl. Your daughter. She is even more powerful than we had hoped." Oh, how smug he sounded. How she would like to rip that smugness from his throat.

"Yes, yes, that's all very well. But I'm a bit busy at the moment. Creatures to slay, old friends to torture. Can't it wait," the voice asked petulantly. Oh, gods. The thing was mad, as well.

"You have but to complete the portal and I shall bring her home, Master." Deerborne was patient, respectful. If he heard the madness he didn't care.

"Oh, very well. But I will need all of your strength, boy. And quickly. I have an unwanted guest. He's causing trouble."

"Of course, my master. Avek saruman, kaitai aleph—"

The rest of the words were lost in a haze of agony and confusion. What was happening to her? What was happening to the world? From beneath her Tessa could actually feel the earth protest this invasion, feel vital energies being blocked and shunted. Other energies poured in instead, clogging the clean, pure paths of the world with rot and death. The air shimmered, cut down the center by a blade clotted with madness. What was happening was no part of the natural order. It was _other_. It was wrong.

"Avek, avek, mes saruman korum—" The world was tearing in two. Something beyond imagining was reaching for her.

"NO!!!" The cry tore at her throat, but Tessa was beyond caring. Lightning erupted from the air, thunder shaking the walls an instant later. The ground shook, as if seeking to shake off this unwelcome visitor. Energy burned across her skin, boiling away first the sensation of insects and then the ropy web that bound her. The wind roared through her veins, the river below ground pumped in time with her pounding heart. She could see every living thing within a mile with perfect clarity. She opened herself to all that the world had to offer. Every summer breeze, ever drop of sunshine that warmed every blade of grass. She was one with the world.

And the world was angry.

"No more," she whispered. "Get you off the skin of MY WORLD!" Power leapt from the girl in a font, roaring out at the abomination in front of her. Her hair whipped and cracked in the wind, her eyes blazed with lightning. If there was anything left of the simple minstrel girl Tessa in the creature standing in that stable, there was no sign of it.

###

C_rack_. Justin's head hit the cobblestones again. While his head might be hard it wasn't _that_ hard, and he was beginning to lose his ability to think. With effort he brought up one hand and forced it up against the creature's jaw. He shoved with all of his strength. Bone cracked then gave way, forcing the thing's head away from him. That was something of a relief right there; the things didn't smell any too good. And where the hell had his sword gone, anyway. 

"Get away from him!" It was the kid. "Get away!" There was a nasty crunching sound, and Justin was treated to a face full of nasty wetness. Still, the thing did loosen its hold. He shoved at it and the zombie went tumbling backward. The boy—Darrell, his name was Darrell—was standing above him, a proud grin on his face. A cracked mug from Michael's, coated with slime and gore, told the rest of the story.

"Not bad," Justin allowed with a smile. "You every give up on this whole knight business, you just might have a future as a tavern keeper, kid." The boy's smile widened. Justin pulled himself to his feet and looked around for his sword. He'd managed to drop it in the scuffle, and things weren't over yet.

BOOM!

Apparently that was an understatement. The sky exploded above them, the lighting and thunder suddenly one long steady roar. The storm made him think of Tessa again. He'd promised to keep her safe, but he had a bad feeling that was another promise he was going to break. He spotted his blade and scooped it up quickly, trying to see every which way at once. More men had joined the struggle, but it still wasn't enough. And he had a bad feeling that the worst fight was taking place without him. _Tessa, where are you, girl?_

As if in answer lightning flashed, close enough to make the hairs on his arms stand at attention. A half dozen paces away a zombie exploded in a blaze of light, sending a shower of sparks down around where it had stood. Some of the sparks landed on a small bale of hay outside Michael's tavern, setting it ablaze. Justin nodded. Fire. Now there was an idea. The zombies in the hall hadn't seemed too afraid of it, and he'd figured that meant they weren't any too vulnerable to the stuff. But the lightning had sure worked well, leaving just a crispy corpse behind. One of the zombies he'd beheaded earlier was still crawling around, trying to grab hold of anyone it could. Justin grabbed it by back of its uniform and tossed it onto the fire. It lit up right away, burning with a nasty green glow. The thing stumbled to its feet, waving its arms around wildly, but the flames didn't go out. Within a few paces it had stumbled to its knees. A few seconds later it fell forward, twitching, as its body was consumed by the flames.

"Yes!" Darrell jumped up and down, laughing. "That's got them, Prince Justin!" Justin reached out and ruffled the kid's hair, a grin growing on his own face. Lightning still roared across the sky, screaming down to hit the ground at irregular intervals. _Tessa_.

"Yeah, that looks like the ticket, don't it? You here that, boys? Let's light 'em up!" Sheathing his sword, Justin ran for the tavern, the boy on his heels, They grabbed torches and returned to the battle, shoving the fire into as many zombie fighters as they could. The results were impressive. While some of the men were burned when the fiery zombies grappled with them, none were seriously injured. Within a few minutes they were surrounded by twitching zombie funeral pyres.

Justin leaned against the outer wall, trying to catch his breath. He nodded to one of the new arrivals, a man wearing Tronin colors. "Where did you come from, buddy?"

The man pushed his helmet back and grinned tiredly. "The barracks, Prince Justin. Many of us were asleep in our bunks when these creatures attacks. Most of our men are still there, trying to fight their way free. I had come searching for help when I saw you and your men."

"Well, you found it." He raised his voice. "I want the rest of you guys to follow the sergeant here back to the Tronin barracks. We need those men back at the Great Hall. Yesterday." The soldiers nodded wearily. They were all tired and past tired, but there was still a lot of work to be done and they all knew it.

"Aren't you coming, Prince Justin?" The kid Darrell was looking up at him in wide-eyed surprise.

"Nah. I got something else I need to do first. And just maybe I know where the guy who started all this is." That got their attention. Several of the men looked at him hopefully, and the kid was nearly bouncing with excitement.

"Can I come with you, Prince Justin?"

"Not this time, kid." Justin smiled tiredly. "This is somethin' I've gotta do on my own." He looked at the soldiers, none of whom liked _this_ bit of news. "So what are ya waiting for? An engraved invitation? Get moving!" Sometimes it was good to be a prince. While the men didn't like it, none of them protested. They turned and jogged off in the direction of the barracks, leaving him alone in the courtyard.

He had a pretty good guess where he'd find Tess, and from the light show in the sky odds were good that Deerborne fella was with her. Hoping he was right about Tessa and praying that he was wrong about Deerborne, Justin turned and ran for the stables where Tessa's wagon was stored.

###

"Ariel, get the torch!" A couple of bedside lamps had been brought in for close work, but most of the light was provided by torches hung at intervals along the walls. One of them was just behind Ariel, its flames dangerously close to her…hat, or whatever you'd call it.

"I can see just fine!"

"No, I meant," _thump_, "for me! Get the torch!" He spat out a mouthful of blood. "Fire destroys them!" Fire purified and destroyed almost anything, if you could get it to burn. And Ariel had just soaked the creature (and him) with one of the most flammable things there was. The creature slammed him against the wall again and Geoffrey hit it with all of his strength. It grunted in surprise and…pain? Geoffrey thought he'd never heard a nicer sound. Now he just needed to get clear of it before Ariel—

"Here!" Ariel had taken down the torch and now tossed it in his direction. It was headed right for them.

"No!" He tried to jerk away, only to discover that his fist was solidly lodged in the creature's ribcage. With a massive grunt of effort Geoffrey jerked his arm, lifting the thing off of its feet and into the line of, well, fire.

The torch hit the creature dead on, and it burst into flames with a very satisfying _whoosh_. Letting out a cry of rage (or frustration?), it let go of him and tried to turn toward its new target. Flaming bits wafted down, and Geoffrey batted at them frantically before they could light him up as well. His arm, now buried halfway up his forearm inside the creature, refused to budge.

Well, if you couldn't go one way…steeling himself, Geoffrey shoved forward. His hand squished through truly disgusting internal things before punching out of the monster's back. Ariel cried out in revulsion and he could feel his hand begin to catch fire. This just kept getting better and better.

"I…am so…sick…of you!" With a final, convulsive effort Geoffrey grabbed hold of what was left if the thing's backbone and pulled. A wet gristly sound and he was free. The thing swayed in front of him, then collapsed slowly to the floor.

"Geoffrey! You did it!" Ariel was suddenly there, her arms wrapped tightly around him. Something he'd long hoped for, but…

"I can't breathe."

"Oh. Sorry about that. Guess I got kind of excited. And you're—yuck!—covered with gunk. And on fire." Ariel waved at the flames licking at his arm. Geoffrey quickly patted them out. Ariel smiled at him, then cried out in dismay. Exhausted, he prepared to fight again.

"My dress! Oh, it's just ruined!" Taking a handkerchief from _some_where, Ariel began to pat futilely at the gore on her gown.

It was too much. Geoffrey staggered back, leaned against the wall, and closed his eyes.

"Um, Geoffrey?"

"I'll buy you a new dress, Ariel."

"Really? Well, thank you! That's very nice of you. But I meant, 'hey, this dead guy isn't dead yet.' He's still alive. Moving. Whatever."

Sure enough, the thing on the floor wasn't through yet. Still burning, it was clawing at a cot, trying to drag itself to its feet. Its legs weren't working too well, but sooner or later it would figure out it could get to the two of them just by crawling. The flames would eventually destroy it, but with the luck he'd been having it would have plenty of time to kill them both first.

Ariel was staring at the zombie in rapt fascination. Geoffrey was just too damned tired to get that excited. With a sigh he tugged at the doorknob. Who had locked it, anyway? He hadn't even been aware that the door had a lock. It was probably just a practical joke, played on him by the gods. They liked doing that.

The doorknob twisted easily, but the door wouldn't open when he pushed against it. Unless, of course… Geoffrey sighed, closed his eyes, and rested his head against the door frame.

"Ariel?"

"Uh-huh."

"_Ariel_."

"Oh! What, I'm sorry. I was, well, it's amazing how these things just won't give up, don't you think?" Ariel had apparently gotten over her shock. "It just keeps coming, and coming…" She trailed off, her eyes wide. The zombie was getting closer.

"Ariel, the door—"

"I told you, I already tried—"

"…it opens _inward_."

End of Part Nine


	10. Chapter Ten

Author's Note: My apologies for the long delay between sections. I've been busy working on another project, but that's done and I'm back to stay. The end is in sight, and things are really moving fast. As always, I appreciate your comments and suggestions.

Janice (janicecox@peoplepc.com)

Chapter Ten

They were losing.

Erik rubbed his stinging eyes wearily and saw with no surprise that his fingers came away stained with blood. His head throbbed from a deep gash received at some point during the battle. The bleeding had slowed to a trickle, but not before coating his face and turning the front of his tunic bright red. Other wounds, while minor, hampered his movement and made his limbs feel like lead. A sword came at him out of the din, and he batted it away without thinking, his own weapon coming up and skewering his opponent before Erik had registered who the man was. Pulling his sword free he looked up, curiosity long since dulled to numbness.

"Oh, no. No, please." He barely heard his own words. It was no man standing in front of him, foe or one-time friend. The hand holding the sword belonged to Marissa Tronin, King Tronin's youngest daughter. She had been the prettiest and sweetest of all of them, radiating purity and good will. They had played together as children, and at one time there was even talk of a possible betrothal. Now that beauty and innocence was gone. Marissa smiled vacantly, her skin a dull gray, her eyes blank. Fresh blood still trickled from a mortal wound to her chest, while the rest of her seemed to be decaying before his eyes.

"I can't do this." Erik lowered his sword as a wave of despair and exhaustion hit him. No matter how many they destroyed, there were always more. Good soldiers, knights, friends, family…it was too much. He closed his eyes.

"Erik!" He opened them again almost immediately. It was Marko. "We've got company! Outside the main doors!" His vassal shoved a zombie out of his way. It was an old one, and it fell to pieces as it hit the wall. The sight both revolted and cheered Erik, who parried the late Marissa's attack and shoved her back with a well-placed boot. Marko tossed another zombie, sending it tumbling into several others. At least, Erik thought they were zombies. By now everyone was so coated with blood and sweat that it was hard to tell friend from foe. Four went down, and were promptly attacked by men whose stunned, haggard faces revealed them to be human. "I don't think the door's going to last much longer!"

Erik nodded and looked toward the main entrance. They'd barricaded it well, but the door had never been meant to hold back an army. Even above the din he could hear the rhythmic pounding of several strong fists and heavy weapons. The ornate door shook in its frame. In another minute whatever was out there would be through, and then all of them were finished. He couldn't keep the despair from his face, and saw it instantly reflected in the faces of his remaining men. Biting his lip, Erik forced his face back to neutrality. He was supposed to be leading these men. Without thinking his gaze went to his father.

Zombies swarmed around the dais, slashing with blades and bare hands at the nobility clustered there. Baaldorf and his wife were there, as were the Tronins and a handful of others. They were surrounded by half a dozen soldiers, all bleeding and torn. His father was among them, his great sword flashing in the torch light. Richard fought as if he were ten, no twenty years younger and had an entire regiment at his back. There was no fear in his face, only a fierce determination that Erik could never hope to match.

But no one else needed to know how tired he was, how afraid. Not for the first time, Erik buried his own weakness beneath a shell of calm bravery. It was a thin, brittle shell, but it was the best he could do. His stomach in knots, Erik impaled the zombie that had once been Marissa Tronin and called out in a loud, strong voice. "All right, men! We can do this! I need every available man to the main entrance, now!" Marko nodded and took up the refrain, urging the soldiers around him to fall back toward the doors. Erik nodded gratefully. For a moment he'd been afraid that the men weren't going to respond.

"Come on you guys! Listen to Prince Greystone! We've got to keep more of those things from coming inside. I've got it on very good authority that not a one of them has an invitation. Let's go!" Even Marko's legendary strength seemed to be fading. He started to lift another zombie over his head, then stumbled and sent it crashing to the floor. It stirred and began to rise immediately. One of Baaldorf's men, his face set and grim, hacked the thing's head off. Marko nodded his thanks, and the two began edging toward the doors. A handful of others followed. Most remained locked in combat. A few others simply stayed where they were, leaning against the wall, too dazed or tired to move.

"Let's move, men! There's a war on!" Erik tried to catch the eyes of the men he passed, but most returned his gaze with a blank, indifferent stare. Three simply shrugged and turned away, and Erik took that like a blow. _It's not working. They're not listening to me_. His worst fear. He wasn't a natural leader like his father, just a shallow imitation. Those men saw it, he knew. He was failing his kingdom, his _father_, at the moment he was needed most.

"Here they come!"

Erik tightened his grip on his sword, trying to block out the sounds of fighting behind him, the thick smells of blood and decay. Who would be leading the charge through the doors? More friends, soldiers and knights he'd fought alongside? Kinsmen? _Justin?_ He should never have sent his brother out there, Erik knew. Another failure, one from which their father might never recover. The wood gave way with a shriek, a blood-stained axe halfway through the left door panel. Powerful unseen hands jerked it back. A second swing demolished the door, and the next instant it crashed inward to shatter against the wall. Beside him, Marko shifted, the vassal's massive hands settling more firmly on the hilt of his weapon. Who would it be? A large shadow form stepped into the light, massive weapon raised.

"Prince Greystone!" The tip on the great sword dipped as a man Erik recognized as one of Tronin's knights bowed his head respectfully. The man's eyes widened as he took in the scene behind them. "Forgive me, sire, we came as soon as we could." Behind him other men appeared out of the darkness, two dozen or more. They wore the uniforms of different kingdoms, and all were bloodied from battle. Bloodied, and, thank all the gods, _alive_. Erik felt the tightness in his chest loosen just a little. The fresh air gusting in felt good. Clean. He nodded decisively.

"Let's get to work."

###

The wind slapped at his face and hands, making forward progress almost impossible. The empty courtyard was light up just about as bright as day from the lighting that arched back and forth across the sky. Balled lightning danced across rooftops and spun atop flagpoles as if it was dancing a jig. Every hair on his body felt like it was standing at attention, but Justin had no idea if that was a warning sign or not; the energy from all that lightning was practically dancing across every surface out here, and that included him. _And with all the thunder crashing around, I wouldn't hear a whole squadron of bug bears sneakin' up behind me. Justin, old son, this ain't good. _

There was an understatement. Justin staggered back as an especially nasty gust of wind nearly knocked him head over tail. The storm was getting worse by the minute. Most of the tents put up for the Tournament were long gone, and as he passed the first set of stables the wood moaned as if it was in pain. He ducked without thinking, and a piece of roofing narrowly missed his head, hitting the cobblestones with enough force to shatter the wood like glass. He shuddered. _Man, what in three kinds of hell am I doin' out here? Fella could get hurt_. Matter of fact, a lot of them _had_. A knight, one of their own, lay sprawled between two water barrels, his head canted to one side, neck clearly broken. Jonas, his name had been, Justin remembered. Yeah, that was it. A nice guy, with a wife and three little ones he was always bragging on. As Justin approached the body shuddered, its eyelids fluttering wildly. Jonas' body began to jerk, the flesh of his face twitching as though a hundred ants were crawling around beneath it. Justin had seen it half a dozen times tonight, but the change still held an uneasy fascination for him. It was unnatural, seeing the dead Jonas start moving again. Dead was supposed to be dead. Permanent-like, even. Grimacing, Justin drew his sword. They were slow and clumsy at first, easy pickings if you had the stomach for it.

"Sorry, buddy." Cutting the poor guy's head off wouldn't kill the zombie, but it would sure inconvenience it some, he reflected as he completed the sad business. Not for the first time Justin wondered what made some folks turn out in such a way as to make the creation of something like this seem reasonable. Most wars came down to ugly little scenes like this one, another reason he liked to stay as far away from them as possible. That made him think of Erik and their father. Neither of them liked warfare, but they seemed to accept it as the natural order of things. Justin wasn't so sure, but then who ever said he was a great thinker? Ladies were more his area of expertise.

Except maybe he wasn't any great expert there, either. Leastwise, that's what Tessa would say. As if the weather itself agreed with his assessment a gust of wind chose that moment to nearly flatten him, and he heard a window give way with a loud crack. The acrid smell of lightning was thick in the air, as was the smell of rain, though not a single drop had fallen. Gathering his strength, Justin pushed away from the side of the building and ran for the rear stables. Tessa needed him.

###

The pain was excruciating. Roland Deerborne blinked fresh blood from his eyes and strained to concentrate. _Ignore the pain. Pain is transitory. Pain is nothing_. He repeated the mantra, learned when he was still a beardless boy, over and over as he tried unsuccessfully to contact his master. His wards were holding, more or less, but with every passing moment he became more certain that, unthinkable as it seemed, the girl was going to win.

Oh, not because of her superior skills. He allowed himself a small smirk at the thought. She was as rough and untrained as he and his master had believed, perhaps even more so. But this foolish slip of a girl had access to power that no one had controlled in more than a thousand years, and was flinging it about with the abandon of a child throwing a temper tantrum. She had forced him into a defensive position and she, unlike he, showed no signs of tiring. Unless he found a way to counter her, and soon, she would overpower him. The fact that, unchecked, she would likely go on to tear this misbegotten continent apart was small comfort.

"Avek, avek, mes saruman korum—" The words slipped through cracked lips as another lightning bolt slipped—barely!!—off his wards. The deflected energy nonetheless hammered him to the ground and he tasted fresh blood. Wind tore at his eyes and slapped dirt and straw against his skin, leaving it red and raw. _Where is he? Did the old fool Traquill actually defeat him?_ His master had assured him it was impossible. Traquill's powers were waning, the wizard growing old and decrepit. His master was still relatively young, with the tactical benefits of prior planning and surprise. It was supposed to be, in his master's words, a cake walk. But the contact he'd finally managed had been weak, and had shattered under the girl's sudden attack.

Roland was forced to break off the incantation as a support beam groaned and gave way, crashing to the floor where he'd been a scant second ago. He rolled to his feet, forcing himself to ignore the way the room dipped and swayed around him. The girl laughed and it sent an involuntary shiver down his spine.

"Where is your bold talk now, wizard?" There was nothing human in that voice. The trouble was, there was no sense of _control_, either. Steeling himself, he whispered the necessary words and gout of fire erupted from the floor, courtesy of the fourth abyssal hell. It enveloped the girl immediately and he had the satisfaction of hearing her scream in pain.

The trouble was, once on this plane it was just ordinary fire, and the girl either knew it or sensed it. An instant later the fire disappeared as the air that fueled it was abruptly withdrawn. There was a faint popping sound as more air rushed in to fill the empty space.

"Ohhh." The girl's eyes widened in surprise and pain. Her skin was blistered and blackened in spots, her dress a smoldering ruin. For just a moment the wind died, the lightnings ceased their attack. She was just a girl again, a girl who had never known real pain. Roland grinned.

"_Shiren_." The small imps he could summon with a word appeared at her feet, their long claws digging into her calves and ankles. Imps were weak and cowardly, but he needed to keep her off balance. He drew his sword. Now that he had the advantage once again, he could keep her reacting instead of acting long enough to physically overpower her. Once that was done he would have ample time to reach his master and arrange for their return.

The girl made a revolted mewing sound and gestured frantically at her feet. In response, the ground opened up, thick roots reaching up to grasp the two imps. They skittered away, chattering fearfully. Her hands came up to her face, as if trying to assess the damage there. She looked panicked, uncertain. He decided to try one last time to best her by magical means. Magic that would keep her physically unharmed, which would undoubtedly please his master. He had one last spell prepared, waiting only for the right word of power to be spoken aloud.

"_Submit_." He put all of his remaining energy into that one word. Magical energy strong enough to see with the naked eye flowed from him to the girl. It was several magnitudes above what he had used on the servant girl, and should have Tessa, have any mortal for that matter, on her knees begging to serve him. His skills were primarily those of manipulation, and there was no man better in all the world at this particular trick.

"Mmmm." As he had hoped, she moaned and fell to her knees, hands clutching spastically at straw and dirt as the spell did its work. Hot exultation flooded through him. _She was his!_ It might be hours before he was strong enough to contact his master, but what of it? There were all kinds of ways to while away the hours, and the thought of having this one, compliant yet fully aware and utterly at his mercy, was intoxicating, to say the least. Desire, hot and heavy, ran suddenly through his veins. He walked to her and knelt to caress her face.

"Oh, Tessa. We'll have such fun, you and—"

Out of nowhere something hard slammed into his skull, knocking Roland back and making his thoughts reel in confusion. He would had sworn on his soul that the girl was helpless. So how had she--?

"You know, somehow I don't think the lady's all that wild about your idea of fun." A male voice, with a countrified accent coating an unmistakable tone of command. Justin Greystone. Of course.

"I don't need her approval." Shaking off the last of the dizziness, Roland rose and drew his sword, assessing the situation as he moved to stand between his new enemy and the prize he had won. "Any more than I need your interference. The girl is mine, Greystone."

"See, now, that's where you and I disagree." Greystone took a step forward, raising his weapon menacingly. "Why don't you just come on over here and we'll discuss it, real polite-like."

"Sorry, Greystone. I'm afraid that my plans for the girl have nothing whatsoever to do with carousing or avoiding responsibility. And unless I'm mistaken, those _are_ your only areas of expertise." He took a calculated shot in the dark. "That's what your family says, at any rate. Were they wrong?" The sudden flush on the other man's face told him he'd scored a hit. Power tingled across Roland's fingertips and the warlock smiled inwardly. Not much power, true, but more than enough to deal with this half-witted younger prince. Roland took a step forward, closing the distance between them, and with the briefest flicker of concentration, flung out his off hand. An instant later sparks exploded into painful light and heat directly in Greystone's face. He saw the prince flinch, the man's eyes closing reflexively, too late. The Camarand prince was blinded. With a heartfelt prayer to his dark gods Roland swung his sword. If the gods were with him, he could finish this with a single blow and be gone with the girl before anyone was the wiser. The blade flashed through the air, headed unerringly for Greystone's defenseless throat.

###

The sun had exploded.

It was the only thing that could explain the light that seared his eyes and sent needles of white-hot pain shooting into his skull. Justin blinked fiercely, tears streaking down his cheeks unheeded as he tried desperately to clear his vision. What Deerborne had been doing to Tess had had Justin seeing red, sure enough, and now it looked like the warlock was trying to--

_move _

Justin had been listening to the small, quiet voice all of his life, and it had kept him out of more nasty scrapes than he could count. Listening to it now saved his life. Still unable to see, Justin jerked back just as a sword blade bit through the air where his throat had been an instant before. That same still voice brought his weapon up, not to parry, but to slash at the enemy he couldn't see. The blade bit flesh, and he was rewarded with a cry of pain as he completed his swing and brought his weapon back to ready. Through a red and black haze Justin could just make out the shape of a man, hunched over and moving away.

"So there is more to you than meets the eye. Interesting." The warlock was trying to sound tough, but Justin could hear the pain and strained desperation in his voice. Blinking fiercely through the red haze, Justin took a step forward. Another few seconds and he'd nail the bastard to the wall, Justin vowed. Just a few seconds more…

"That's far enough." Deerborne sounded more confident now, and as the last of the magic-induced haze cleared from Justin's vision he could see why. Deerborne stood just out of sword's reach, one arm holding Tessa tightly against him, a knife at her throat. He was holding the near-unconscious girl in front of him like a shield, a tight grin on his face. "Drop your sword."

"I don't think so." Justin let the tip of his blade drop, watching intently to see if the warlock's gaze would follow it. The guy wasn't fool enough to do that, but Justin breathed a sigh of relief all the same. Wizards could bleed just like normal folks if you cut them, and Deerborne was bleeding plenty from the severed stump that was all that was left of his good left hand. The bleeding was already slowing, but from the way Deerborne was holding it up and the pasty white look on his face, it was hurting the guy plenty. He was swaying a little, and leaning more and more on Tess for support. Tessa looked stunned, but Justin could hardly blame her for that. Once things settled down she'd be fine, he figured. But in the mean time,

"Why don't you put that pig-sticker down," Justin suggested in a calm drawl. "Somebody's gonna get hurt if you keep waving that thing around." _Give me an opening, buddy. Just one… _

"That was the general idea," Deerborne replied through gritted teeth. All of the magician's concentration was focused on Justin, like a guy who'd had too much to drink before picking a bar fight. "Put the weapon down and step back, or I will kill her."

She's not the one gonna get hurt, son." Justin's voice was low and calm, but his eyes told a different story. Had any of his friends or family been present, they would hardly have recognized the carefree scoundrel prince in the grim, determined man who stood there now. Backed into a corner, the red-headed bastard might well kill the girl to save himself, Justin knew. No way was he going to let that happen. No way.

And maybe it wouldn't. Tessa was stirring, her face flooding with animation as she came back from wherever she'd been. She hadn't started to struggle yet, but it wouldn't be long, now. Deerborne was looking real rocky, and it was taking all of the man's strength just to keep an eye on Justin. An elbow to the gut from Tess, or even just a good bard-quality scream, and Deerborne would lose his concentration. And right after that the murdering, thieving bastard would lose his head.

"Tessa and I are leaving now. Aren't we, Tessa?" The magician nudged his captive, an ugly smile on his pale, sweaty face. "Tell him, Tessa. Tell Prince Greystone how much you want to go with me." Deerborne's confidence gave Justin pause. There was no way Tessa would go with him voluntarily. Was there?

"Mmm." Tessa looked like she was waking up, shaking off the tail end of some unpleasant dream. "What?"

"Tell your paramour that you've changed your mind, Tessa. You can't wait to return home to Daddy." There was a hint of malicious glee in Deerborne's words that made Justin's hand tighten on his sword hilt. What was this?

"Go home?" Tessa echoed. She looked confused, still sleepy, like she was…under his spell?

"Stop it." Justin took a step forward.

"The girl is mine, Greystone. Body and soul. Guess you'll have to find yourself another bed warmer, hmm? Don't worry. In a week's time you'll have forgotten all about—"

"Stop it." Tessa's voice was stronger this time, but her face still had a remote look to it Justin didn't much like.

"That's enough, Tessa. We'll have plenty of time for chit-chat once we get you—"

"Stop it. Stop _touching_ me. Stop…I can _feel_ you inside me." Trembling hands went to her temples, as if to shut out a voice only she could hear. "I won't…"

"You will. Listen to the sound of my voice, Tessa. Only my voice. You're going to—" What he had planned for Tessa Justin would never know. The warlock broke off, a funny look on his face. The knife blade moved just a fraction away from the girl's neck, and Justin knew he'd never have a better chance. He lunged forward, grabbing the wrist that held the knife.

"Tessa, move!"

The girl stood stock still, as if she hadn't even heard him.

"Damn it, Tess, can't you just do what I say this once?" His other hand still holding his sword, Justin didn't have a free hand to push the girl aside. A tingle sensation ran through the hand holding the warlock's wrist. More magic, more like. "Move, girl!"

"No," Tessa whispered. She seemed a million miles away, her face even more remote than before, her eyes closed as if in a trance. He'd have to drag Deerborne away, then, and hope like hell he could put an end to the warlock before the guy pulled off whatever trick was making Justin's hand tingle so. Funny thing was, the guy didn't look like someone about to throw a magic whammy on anyone. His eye were wide with surprise, his red hair standing on end like he'd just gotten the scare of his life. It was almost funny.

Then Tessa opened her eyes.

"No." The single word was cold, ruthless. Dirk Blackpool could have taken lessons, Justin thought with the small part of his mind that wasn't frozen.

What has frozen him as solid as a tankard of ale left overnight in the icehouse was Tessa's eyes. They were normally a pale blue, slightly unfocused but filled with a warmth and animation that he'd gotten pretty fond of. All of that was gone now, replaced by something that chilled him to the bone. Where Tessa's eyes had been was now a roiling storm. A deep blue the color of the mid-day sky filled her eyes, and as he watched clouds rolled across those inhuman eyes. As if in response, the skies above roared. Thunder so loud it shook the building crashed around them, making the horses nearby scream in shrill fear. Tessa reacted to none of it, her face a mask of rage and loathing far beyond anything Justin would have thought his kind, shy minstrel capable of.

"No more," she whispered.

A bright flash of light lit the stable brighter than day, and Justin had a confused instant to register that the light seemed to come from the ground and explode _upward_ before he was sailing through the air, the hand that had been touching Deerborne throbbing with white-hot pain. Justin hit the far wall with tooth-rattling force and slid to the straw-covered floor, barely consciously. What the hell had hit him?

Tessa had. A wind had come from nowhere, lifting her hair and turning her tattered gown into a living thing that danced and flapped around her. Her small pale hands were clenched into claws and her body seemed to tremble with effort as she stared at the man hanging in the air before her.

It was Roland Deerborne, Justin saw, as he struggled, still dazed, to his feet. Had the warlock managed to cast whatever spell he'd been planning? Was that what had happened? The taste of blood strong in his mouth, Justin leaned back against the wall, trying to get his bearings. No, Tessa didn't seem hurt, he saw. Deerborne, on the other hand, looked like he was having a real bad day. The warlock's clothing was blackened and tattered and seemed to be smoking in places. His hands (well, okay, _hand_) hung limp at his side, his feet a good two feet off the ground. The roof above him was gone, and the smell of lightning was strong in the air. Another crack of thunder shook the air, and just as suddenly everything went quiet. _Too_ quiet.

"…dead. They're all dead. Everything's death. Death you brought." Her voice was devoid of anger, of any kind of emotion. It was worse than any tears or rage would have been, Justin thought. The hairs on his back began to rise, as if in agreement.

"No." Deerborne's voice strangled on that simple word. His hand rose unsteadily in the air, as if in supplication. The knife he'd been holding fell to the ground, unheeded, and the sound it made when it hit seemed very loud in the weird, uncanny silence.

"Yes." Tessa didn't so much as twitch, but the ground began to ripple like waves in a pond. Wooden planks split and shredded, revealing dirt beneath that tossed and turned like a living thing. Deerborne shifted awkwardly, struggling to keep his balance. The warlock looked like he was going to make a break for it, but Tessa never gave him the chance. Soil rose up in waves, crashing down to the wooden planks in an almost perfect circle around Deerborne. In the center Deerborne seemed to be shrinking as the pit he found himself in grew deeper with every passing moment. He clawed at the dirt, trying to pull himself out, then fell to his knees as he finally lost his footing. Justin had to give the guy credit. Deerborne never stopped struggling, not even when the dirt began to cascade back into the pit, running like water over his legs, waist, and finally up over his chest.

"Tessa, it doesn't--" Deerborne broke off, coughing, as dirt filled his mouth. He spat it out and tried again. "I can help you! I can show you how to use your gifts. Together we could rule--" The warlock gagged as dirt again filled his mouth. He spat it out, only to have more dirt spill in with his next breath. Now the warlock showed real fear for the first time, and Justin watched without a twinge of regret as the man clawed frantically at his throat while the soil continued to rise. Justin caught one last glimpse of the man's wide, staring eyes before the ground swept over him at last. It was over. Or was it?

"Tess? Justin walked unsteadily toward the girl, his boots crunching on upturned soil and fragments of the wooden boards. The wind was picking up now, spinning debris and straw in restless whirlwinds around them. A whisper of thunder rang overhead, followed immediately by a heavy grumble that brought with it the crackle of lightning. The storm wasn't done yet, it looked like. Through all of it Tessa stared fixedly at the ground where Deerbrone had been. What did she see, he wondered.

"…to dust you return." Tessa swept one hand parallel to the floor and the dirt smoothed out, groaning as it compressed back down into its original shape. If she'd heard Justin she gave no sign.

"Tessa?' Justin reached out, but something kept him from touching the fair-haired girl. This was the "royal witch" Deerborne and his master had searched a continent for, he knew now. The thing Traquill had warned them would be the end of the world. But she looked tired, lost, and fragile, and most of him wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and comfort her. It was the part of him that wasn't in love with her yet, the part that was a Greystone and heir to a lot more than crowns and fancy costumes, that had his hand reaching for his sword. Even as his fingers tightened around the sword hilt Justin wasn't sure which part of him would win out.

###

_Find Sir Hugh. Find Sir Hugh_. The refrain ran through Darrell's head like a mouse on a wheel, and it was the only thing that kept the young squire from curling up under a table and closing his eyes until it was all over. Prince Erik said that they were winning now, and if he said such a thing it had to be true. But men continued to fall and rise in the Great Hall, rise as horrible zombie creatures that were almost impossible to kill. Darrell ducked as a great blow swung over his head to impact in the chest of one of the zombies. It should have been a mortal blow, but the creature only smiled, a terrible sight and one that seemed to burn itself into Darrell's mind, before swinging an axe already clotted with blood and flesh. The axe bit deep, and Darrell turned his head away. There were so many of them, with more joining the battle each time one of the living fell. The world was awash in death, it seemed.

_Find Sir Hugh. He'll know what to do_. But were was he? Darrell jumped up into the air, hoping to see that familiar face above the crowd. No such luck. What if Sir Hugh was already dead? The thought didn't bear thinking on. Darrell knew his own skill with a sword was fair at best, and the knights and soldiers on both sides of the battle towered over him, with a reach and strength he couldn't hope to match. Darrell's duty as a squire was to support his knight, providing whatever aid he could before, during, and after the battle. What if Sir Hugh needed a fresh weapon, or a message sent, or had a wound in need of bandaging? There was no one there to help him!

"Sir Hugh!" Pointless to cry out in this din, Darrell knew. But what else was there? Leaping onto one of the few tables still standing, he called out again.

"SIR HUGH!"

Several heads turned at his cry, but none of them belonged to his master. But…there. In the far corner, near the King's dais, several knights stood in a rough circle, holding off what seemed to be dozens of zombies. One of the knights looked familiar enough to momentarily stop Darrell's heart. Could it be…?

It was! A hundred pounds of weight slipped off Darrell's shoulders as he watched his master decapitate one of the dread creatures, his strong face covered with gore but filled with enough determination for ten men. For a shameful moment Darrell thought he might weep, the feeling of relief that swept through him was so strong. An instant later he was shaking it off and scolding himself for such womanly weakness even as he leapt from the table and darted toward his master's side. Fresh energy flooded him, and he moved easily through the crowds of warriors. In what seemed to be the blink of an eye he was darting between the legs of a massive zombie soldier to take his rightful place at his knight's side.

"Darrell?" Green eyes flickered briefly to the squire before returning to his opponent. Hugh frowned, and when he spoke his voice was firm. But Darrell saw the relief and surprised pleasure in his master's eyes. "Lad, this is no place for you."

"My place is at your side." Darrell lifted his chin, stifling a grin. Prince Erik was right, he thought. They _were_ going to win. How could they lose, with men such as his master fighting for them?

"Darrell, son." Hugh broke off to deal with an especially vicious blow, then continued. "In close quarters like this, all you'll do is get your fool head cut off. If you're lucky."

"I haven't yet. Sir."

Hugh frowned at the impudence, but Darrell had the feeling he was hiding a smile behind that fierce glower. "Well, since you're here, you might as well make yourself useful. To the north, in the far corner, lies the kitchen. That's where the infirmary was set up. I want you to make your way there, and bring back supplies. We have wounded here."

"Sir Hugh! You've been injured!" Darrell stared, aghast, at his master's side. How had his missed it before? Thick blood had welled up between the plates of armor and streamed down past his master's waist. Just above it lie a small slice in the armor itself, undoubtedly where the blade had bit.

"Eh? No, that's nothing, lad. But King Baaldorf has been injured, as have several others. Nothing mortal, but serious enough that I'll risk you to go for aid, if you're willing." He paused to parry a clumsy blow, then continued quietly. "I'll not order you to do this, lad. But we need those supplies."

"I live to serve. King, honor, country." Words he'd memorized in his first days of service. Just saying them aloud, and knowing that he meant every one of them, gave Darrell strength he didn't know he had. Something flickered across Hugh's face, but the knight only nodded.

"Go, then. And may the gods go with you."

Darrell saluted, then darted back into the throng, a smile on his face. There were two dozen or more zombies between him and his goal, and if he got past them once he'd still have to do it a second time, this time loaded down with medical supplies. But that didn't matter. His king needed him. Sir Hugh needed him. _And he called me son!_ Heedless of the danger, Darrell ran for the infirmary.

###

_It wasn't fair. _

This was supposed to have been one big party. The biggest one of the year, in fact. She'd been supposed to shop, flirt, and gossip. At first all the excitement had been interesting, Ariel thought. Daddy always protected her from the nasty, boring stuff of politics, and Ariel had been surprised to learn that some of it was actually kind of interesting. Almost like gossip, even. But then people started getting hurt, and it got icky. Now all Ariel wanted to do was go home, and a small, shrill voice in her head was telling her even that might not be possible.

Geoffrey bumped into her and Ariel bit back a cry of surprise. She'd been trying to think of something, anything but the battle they were in. Leaving the small infirmary hadn't turned out to be a very good idea, she thought with a small shake of her head. The guards they'd been hoping would save them had turned into yucky zombies, and now they were stuck fighting two of the things instead of just one.

Well, Geoffrey was stuck fighting it, she amended. And doing a pretty good job of it, though her dress was never going to be the same. One of the things that had attacked them had come apart when Geoffrey hit it, showering both of them with the most disgusting stuff you could ever imagine. Another had come to take its friend's place, and Geoffrey was fighting two of the biggest zombie-things she'd ever seen, leaving Ariel to cower behind him against the infirmary door. She could still hear the first zombie pounding on the door, but so far the chair Geoffrey had shoved against it seemed to be holding. It had been in two pieces and on fire, but the darned thing just wouldn't quit. Still, maybe it would be better to go back inside. There was only one of the things in there, after all. And it wasn't any too perky, what with it missing its lower half and all. Ariel put one hand on the chair, biting her lip in thought.

"Geoffrey…?"

"Ariel, I think you'd better--ah!!" Geoffrey cried out as one of the things got an ugly looking axe past his defenses, burying it in Geoffrey's stomach. Geoffrey doubled over, his sword point dropping to the stone tile. The zombie pulled its weapon free, and the sound as it did so made Ariel's stomach flip-flop.

"Geoffrey?" _Please, let him be all right_, Ariel prayed to whoever was listening in. _I know he's the enemy, but he'd not _my _enemy, if you know what I mean. In fact, he's actually kind of nice, once you get past the crazy big brother and smelly wizard thing. I mean, well-- _

"Ariel." Geoffrey had straightened up, which was good. But she didn't like the way he sounded. Funny, kind of choke-y, like he was gargling or something. "Run. Now." He was swaying like he'd had too much to drink, and through the noise Ariel could swear she heard…rain? Something tapped against her foot, and Ariel looked down to see red liquid puddling at her feet, ruining her new leather shoes. _Blood. That's blood, you ninny. Geoffrey's blood. _

For just a minute Ariel almost ran. Geoffrey wanted her to, she knew. And it wasn't like she could fight these yucky things by herself. She was just a girl. More than that, a _princess_. Princesses were protected, taken care of. They didn't break nails and ruin dresses fighting horrible zombie things. Some of the men fighting out there were Baaldorf men, she saw. They would protect her if she ran to them. With their lives, if need be.

But what about Geoffrey? He was leaning against the wall beside her, holding his sword with one hand and clutching the other to his stomach. He'd been nothing but kind to her. Geoffrey didn't think she was some shallow idiot to marry for political reasons, or an empty-headed daughter to be protected and kept from the world. He had listened to her, and fought to keep her safe. Even now he was holding them off, thinking of her rather than himself. Could she leave him to die?

No. Before she could have second thoughts Ariel jerked the chair away from the door, swinging it up at one of the zombies attacking Geoffrey. The chair shattered like glass, trapping the zombie's sword in a tangle of wood and cloth. Ariel reached behind her and twisted the door knob then shoved inward, breathing a sigh of relief as the door swung inward easily. She reached out for Geoffrey and grabbed his arm.

"Geoffrey! This way!" Geoffrey turned his head toward her with painful slowness. Ariel saw his eyes widen and his mouth start to open. "What are you waiting for? Let's go!"

"Ariel, oh no," Geoffrey stammered, his pale face suddenly dead white. Ariel felt a surge of irritation. Men! Just because it wasn't his idea, Geoffrey was going to get all stubborn and grouchy. Ariel opened her mouth to give him what for, then squeaked as a heavy arm came down across her throat, cutting off her air. The next thing she knew Ariel was being dragged back into the infirmary, a cold, dead arm wrapped tightly across her throat and chest. The other hand held the biggest sword she'd ever seen, and it was coming down straight for her.

To be continued...


	11. Chapter 11

Part Eleven

Getting to the infirmary had been harder than it looked. Men and women were fighting everywhere, and the floor was slick with blood and other things it was best not to think about. Darrell fell to one knee, then scrambled on all fours to avoid being trampled as two men staggered by, their hands wrapped around each other's throats. Now his hands were slick with the stuff as well, and Darrell wiped his hands on his tunic with a grimace of distaste before getting to his feet. The infirmary wasn't far now, he thought. He hoped.

If getting to the infirmary had been tough, getting inside was going to be even trickier, Darrell saw a moment later. Three zombies stood in the doorway, their backs to him as they hacked at someone Darrell couldn't see. He slowed as he got closer, hoping to see a way through. The door to the infirmary was shut, bad enough, but what Darrell saw next to it was enough to make his blood run cold. Princess Ariel Baaldorf, his king's only living child and heir apparent, was standing defenseless in front of the zombies.

Well, not quite defenseless. As Darrell watched an unfamiliar black-haired man cut down one of the zombies, which came apart in a shower of rotted flesh and blood. The man was naked to the waist, save for bandages around his middle that were stained and soaked with blood. One of the soldiers, then, injured but still able to defend his princess. Once again Darrell felt a stirring of pride for the men he was privileged to serve with. He cheered mentally as the man stepped between Princess Ariel and one of the zombies, running it through with his sword and forcing the thing back. Medical supplies momentarily forgotten, Darrell leapt forward, eager to join the fray and defend his princess.

Both zombies were completely focused on their quarry, and Darrell grinned in satisfaction as his blade bit deep into a zombie back. He twisted the blade as he'd been told, severing what should have been vital muscle and nerve, before pulling his sword free. The zombie didn't fall over dead, but then it was dead already, wasn't it? It least it staggered to one side, momentarily halting its attack on the princess and her brave defender. Darrell caught another glimpse of the soldier and frowned. The man looked familiar, but the more Darrell thought about it the more he was sure that he wasn't one of their own knights or soldiers. One of Greystone's men, maybe? That wasn't quite right, but it was close, Darrell thought. He ducked as the zombie turned and swung awkwardly at him, its sword arm nearly severed at the elbow. Darrell stabbed forward, but this time his blade slid harmlessly off the thing's leather armor. Distantly, he heard a man's cry of pain as Darrell ducked again, this time barely avoiding getting his head cut off. The thing might be injured, Darrell saw, but that didn't seem to bother it much.

_Injured_. That made him remember what had brought him to the infirmary in the first place. Maybe he and the stranger could take Princess Ariel back to the dais with them, he thought, along with Sir Hugh's supplies. She'd be safe there, and—

"Geoffrey?"

The princess' voice drew Darrell's attention. It was as sweet and clear as he'd heard, but also tight with worry and fear. Her protector was hurt, Darrell saw. With a groan of effort the man pulled himself erect, and as he did so the light dawned. Those blue eyes, set in a face terribly, frighteningly familiar, and set off by hair as black as midnight. As black as their family's souls. Geoffrey, she'd called him.

Geoffrey Blackpool.

"Step away from the princess, if you wish to live." The words came out strong and confident, as commanding as any knight's, Darrell thought proudly.

And were ignored completely. It was as if he wasn't even there.

The princess was tugging on Blackpool's arm, her eyes huge with fear. She probably didn't know who Blackpool was, Darrell consoled himself. Why should she? Princess Ariel was pure and sweet, far removed from the uglier things in the world. The zombie he'd attacked chose that moment to grab at him, and Darrell was forced to defend himself or be torn apart. By the time he was able to look back the princess was gone, the door to the infirmary ajar. And where was Blackpool? Biting his lip, Darrell hacked at the zombie's leg, grinning tiredly as a lucky blow cut it off at the knee and sent the creature tumbling to the floor. That should slow it down. He hoped. He looked around for the thing's partner, and was forced to throw himself to the floor as a Greystone knight swung his broadsword, cutting the other zombie in half with a mighty blow.

_The princess_. Where was the princess?

Stumbling to his feet, Darrell turned to thank the knight, only to see that the man was already locked in battle with another of the creatures. He was alone. But Ariel wasn't, Darrell saw. Her graceful hat with its unmistakable trailing scarves bobbed back and forth in the air, just visible over the tall Blackpool prince's shoulders. She must have gone into the infirmary to get away from the zombies, or Blackpool. Or both, Darrell thought grimly. Blackpool was standing in the doorway, his back to Darrell. One well-placed blow, and Darrell could save the princess and strike a mortal blow against the family that had been his kingdom's enemy since before he was born. His gaze locked on the spot just beneath Blackpool's shoulder blade that led straight to his lying heart, Darrell took a soft step forward, and then another.

"Ariel!" Blackpool called out the princess' name, taking an unsteady step into the room. Good, Darrell thought. The princess must be getting away. Blackpool raised his sword. What was he going to do with it? He was holding it too high to attack with. In fact, he was holding it more like a javelin. He was going to throw it at the escaping princess! Caution forgotten, Darrell leapt forward, his blade aimed directly at Blackpool's miserable black heart.

Just as his blade began its final arc, Darrell's boot slipped in a pool of blood. His forward momentum sent him spinning awkwardly to the floor, his attack unfinished. The impact knocked the sword from his hand, and Darrell cried out in frustration as his sworn enemy released his own sword, sending it flying toward the princess. Darrell had failed. He closed his eyes and slammed his fist to the floor in hopeless frustration. He was too late. Princess Ariel was as good as dead.

She wasn't moving. Justin wasn't even sure that Tessa knew he was there. Electrical energy crackled all around him, humming in the air like a thousand invisible wasps and making his skin feel like it was about to jump off his bones. His sense of danger wasn't whispering now, but clamoring loudly that he needed to be someplace, _any_place, else. _Now_. Good advice, but not advice he could follow just yet. Deerborne might be dead, but Justin had a bad feeling that the danger to his kingdom—to the whole world—was still growing. And all of it coming from the small, fragile-looking girl in front of him.

"Tessa?" Justin reached out and brushed one fingertip across her cheek. His other hand held his sword, and he was desperately afraid he was going to have to use it. Traquill had said that the mixing of royal and magic blood would lead to disaster, and he was beginning to think the old man had been right. Wizards had to study for years to learn to manipulate magic, and then could only use it in very specific, pre-defined ways. Tessa, without any training at all, was able to throw lightning bolts around like candy and make the earth itself open up and _eat _somebody. Alone and unarmed, she'd stood up to a warlock that had been running circles around all of them, Traquill and Vector included, and had killed him dead. Given time and training, would there be anything she couldn't do? Justin was terribly afraid he knew the answer to that.

"Tess?" He turned his tentative touch into a caress of her cheek. Energy ran across his hand like water, but there was no response from the girl. "Come on, darlin'. Come back to me." Maybe it could still be all right. Maybe—

She took a shuddering breath and Justin froze. One wrong move from her, one wrong word, and he would run her through, he promised himself. And regret it for the rest of his life.

"Tess?" The word hung in the air for a dozen heartbeats. His heart sinking, Justin took his hand from Tessa's cheek. Was it already too late? Then she blinked, and his sword froze in mid-air.

"Don't call me Tess," she said softly, and bands around Justin's chest loosened just a bit. She blinked again and the storm clouds faded from her eyes, leaving in their stead pale blue eyes filled with confusion. "Justin? Is that you?"

"Yeah." With a sigh he felt all the way to his toes Justin sheathed his sword and reached for her. At his touch Tessa came readily into his arms, shaking like a leaf. "It's okay, honey. It's over now." But was it? His sense of danger sure didn't seem to think so, and the air around them still shimmered with electrical energy. But then Tessa's arms went tentatively around him and Justin forced the doubts away. "You're safe, Tess. He can't hurt you any more," he murmured into her ear.

"I can still feel him," she whispered. "Inside my head. I can feel everything, Justin. It's so _loud_."

"It'll be okay," he repeated. "Come on. Maybe you just need a little fresh air." As if that would mean anything to a girl who could cause storms at will, he thought grimly. She seemed so lost, so confused, leaning on him for support as they made their way slowly to the main doors. It was easy to tell himself that he was doing the right thing. Traquill's face, pinched with fear, rose up in his memories and Justin ruthlessly pushed it aside. Wizard or not, Traquill was an old man, and old men were prone to making more of things than there really was, Justin told himself. Tessa was no threat to Camarand. Hell, she could barely stand up by herself. Everything was gonna be fine.

"Here we go." He pushed the door open and took a deep breath, trying to steady his frayed nerves. The air did feel fresh and cool, and as it flowed over his skin Justin remembered how tired and sore he was. His hand still throbbed where he'd been touching Deerborne when Tessa had crisped the warlock, and it felt like every muscle in his body had been pulled, twisted, or bruised six ways to Sunday in the past couple of hours. It would be good to sleep for about a day. Hell, _two_ days. With a certain pretty minstrel by his side. He took another deep breath and forced a smile he didn't much feel into his voice. "There. See? That's a lot better."

Tessa didn't reply, her pale face now still and remote. Justin gently squeezed her shoulders with one arm. His other hand had gone back to his sword hilt, and when he realized it he jerked the hand away, biting back a curse as he did so. _No. That ain't gonna happen. _

_Please, _he added, just in case any of the gods happened to be listening.

"It's beautiful." Tessa had turned her face up to the sky and was now smiling faintly. "Everything's alive, Justin. The trees, the grass, the soil. Even the air. It crackles with energy, like a thousand birds in flight. A part of me always knew that, I think. But I was afraid."

"Maybe you had good reason," Justin replied. "That's a pretty big stick you've got in your head, darlin.' Best be careful who you swing it at."

"I know. This power, whatever it is, it _frightens_ me, Justin. It's so--oh!" She doubled over as if struck, and only his arm around her shoulders kept her from falling to the ground.

"What is it?" Justin looked back over his shoulder. The ground was still smooth and unbroken. But if this attack hadn't come from Deerborne, where the heck had it come from? They were alone in the stable. Tessa moaned helplessly and he wrapped his arms protectively around her. "What is it, Tess? Who's hurting you?"

"Mmm." Biting back a cry of pain she waved vaguely out into the courtyard, her lips compressed into a tight pale line. After a minute she pulled herself upright and took a ragged breath, an unhealthy flush coloring her formerly pale cheeks. "Can't you feel it? It's like maggots crawling over your skin." She pointed into the darkness. "There."

"I don't see anything. Hang on." Justin peered into the darkness. Through the rain he thought he could see movement. Hear something, too. A few seconds later and the first cries reached his ears. "It's just more of that Deerborne guy's zombies. Looks like the got themselves chased out of one of the barracks." The battle had spilled out into the courtyard, and from here it was impossible to tell who was winning.

"Zombies." The naked loathing in her voice brought Justin's attention fully back to Tessa. Her lips had curled into a grimace of horror, and he saw with growing disquiet that her hands had tightened into fists. She was as pale as he'd ever seen her, with an unnatural flush to her cheeks that made her eyes sparkle madly.

"Hey, now, nothin' to worry about. Our guys will take care of them." That was the plan, anyway. But if they _were_ still fighting them here, what about back at the main hall? Justin felt a familiar pang of guilt at the thought. He'd been supposed to lead the men back there. Had any of them even made it that far?

"They're an abomination." Tessa spoke softly enough that Justin almost missed her words entirely. "A festering sore. It's wrong. _Wrong…_" she trailed off.

"Yeah, they're none too pretty, all right. But we're taking care of them, Tess." He patted her on the shoulder, not much liking the expression on her face or the tone of her words.

"No. You can't. They'll just keep coming, and coming." Tessa shook her head, her lips a thin, determined line. "But I can." She took a step forward and he hastily released her as a surge of energy crackled over her skin like fire. "I can make it stop. Make it clean." Tessa reached out with one pale, dirty, hand, seeming to tug at the clouds far above them. The response was immediate.

KRACKOW!

Lightning exploded in the sky, followed instantly by thunder so loud it shook tiles from the roof and sent the horses behind them into wild peals of terror. One bolt left those flashing across the sky and lashed down, striking one of the fighters with spooky accuracy. The man, or zombie, or whatever he was, exploded into a shower of burning flesh and cloth. Tessa laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. She snatched at the clouds again, and a shower of lightning bolts roared down from the sky, forcing Justin to close his eyes or be blinded. But he didn't need to see to know what was happening, or to know what he would see if he could look into her eyes.

Tessa was gone. The thing that stood in her place was powerful almost beyond imagining. From the sound of the wild laughter that alternated with sobs of fear with each new attack, it was also completely insane. _And it's my fault_, he thought bleakly. _I should have known_. He staggered back as the ground shook. _I should'a finished it when I had the chance_. He pulled his sword out, hoping it wasn't too late to put it all right. He loved her, he knew now. But for all the time he'd spent running from the fact, he knew something else, as well. He loved his kingdom. Loved it enough to do anything to protect it.

Anything.

_I'm sorry, Tessa_. _I swear to you, I didn't want it to end this way_. The ache in his chest made it hard to breathe. _So this is what a broken heart feels like_, he thought, as he lifted his sword for the killing strike. _Feels like I'm the one about to die, darlin_.' _But I'm not._

_You are_.

"Aren't we done here yet? Man, I tell you, these things seem to go on for days." Marko sighed heavily, his bulk moving with less than its customary speed as they circled, back to back, fending off five of what seemed to be an unending supply of zombies. These were especially rancid, and were probably from the original group of Deerborne soldiers that had set off the spell in the first place, Erik thought. He wished fleetingly that they dared risk opening the main doors and all of the windows. These things were _ripe_.

"I know, I know. Diplomatic dinners are always such a bore." Erik feinted and then thrust forward, skewering his undead opponent. He twisted his blade and nodded in satisfaction as the thing tumbled to the ground in pieces. "You know, I think I'm getting the hang of this." The older the zombie, the more easily it came apart if you hit them right, they had discovered.

"Yeah. Sort of like getting the cork out of a wine bottle without leaving any of that brown stuff inside. I hate when that happens."

"Justin says that's one of the five deadly sins." Erik ducked and a blow sailed easily over his head.

"Five? What happened to the other two?"

"I think he gave them up for lent."

"Um, Erik? I don't think it works like that." Marko reached out and snatched a zombie out of the air as it launched himself at him. "Oh, yeah? Come here, you." With a grunt that was half growl he threw it at another of their attackers, sending them both to the ground in a shower of pieces. "Okay. I'm ready for something new now."

"You are so hard to please. I mean, here we are, in the fight of our lives. Ballads will be written about this day. Undead enemies, evil wizards, rabid Hell Hounds running around, and you're _bored_." Some of the men nearby were grinning at their exchange, and Erik allowed himself a small mental pat on the back. The arrival of Tronin's men had revitalized their forces, both in terms of physical strength and of morale. Things were far from over, but they were looking up. The surviving women and children were now under protective guard, as were what was left of the royal families. From the dais his father was directing the attack, surrounded by their most capable knights. Baaldorf and Tronin were there as well, providing moral support if not much else.

"Speaking of Justin," Marko began.

"Yeah, I know. You think he really went after Deerborne?" The Tronin knight's explanation had included a reference to that, improbable as it sounded.

"He also said something about a girl. That sounds more likely, doesn't it?"

"He is awfully fond of this latest one," Erik granted, most of his attention on his opponent. Was it his imagination, or was it getting quiet in here? They weren't having to shout to be heard, and he could actually see open space in front of him. The loudest sound was the crackle and roar of the worst summer storm he'd ever heard, right over their heads. _Fresh air_, he thought longingly. Erik pulled his thoughts back to the matter at hand. "But, I don't know. He's been acting really strange lately. You think maybe he's turning over a new leaf?"

"Justin? Erik, the stars will fall from the skies before that guy changes his spots."

"I think you just mixed two different metaphors." His muscles aching, Erik parried and then slid his sword beneath his enemy's defenses, neatly severing its sword arm at the shoulder. A burly man in Stormhold livery decapitated it, and two more men grabbed the still-struggling thing and started dragging it toward the main doors. Erik took a deep breath and let himself lean back against the wall, savoring the brief moment of peace. Where _was_ Justin, anyway?

Marko chuckled, his broad shoulders making the wall shake as he collapsed back against it. The vassal began wiping his blade clean with a none-too-clean piece of tablecloth, his eyes following the battle in front of them. "You know, I was just thinking. It's crazy, I know. But Justin _has_ been acting funny. So has Ariel. Jumpy, secretive…kind of crabby. You don't think that the two of them…?" He trailed off, glancing at Erik out of the corner of his eyes and raising his eyebrows suggestively

"Marko! Come on. Ariel is my betrothed. Even Justin wouldn't, wouldn't… And she's not his type, anyway." Two fighters were headed their way, one living, one…not so much. The living soldier seemed to have the upper hand. Good. Erik told himself he wasn't quite ready to sell his soul for five minutes' rest. Not quite.

"She's breathing, isn't she? And it's not like she's homely. Okay, she's not much of a dancer, but a lack of rhythm in one area doesn't always preclude rhythm in another." Marko's face was carefully neutral as he said the last to the air in front of him. Only years of friendship let Erik see the mischief hidden in the man's face. Erik didn't know whether to laugh or be offended.

"I can't believe we're even having this discussion. Ariel is not having an affair with my brother." Laughter won out. Still, Marko was right, Erik acknowledged. Ariel had been acting awfully strange lately. He looked over at his vassal. "You don't really think…"

"Nah," they finished together.

"So you sent Ariel up to Cassandra? That was smart. Man, I'd hate to think of her down here in this mess. I can just imagine the screaming. You know, if one of them got that rotting stuff on her dress." Marko shuddered expressively.

"You should have heard her when I spilled a little punch on that blue dress of hers last spring. For a moment there my life passed before my eyes." Erik paused, the smile slowly fading from his face. "Wait a minute. I thought you said _you_ sent her upstairs."

"I said I would if I saw her. Then everything went all zombie-crazed and I kind of lost track of her. I checked the dais a little while ago, and she wasn't there. If she was still out on the floor we'd have seen her, right? You couldn't miss that hat," Marko replied.Ariel's fondness for elaborate headgear was legendary, but tonight she'd outdone herself. The hat was easily three feet tall, with three points that each held elaborate silk scarves which hung past her shoulders. Marko was right. If Ariel had still been in the Hall, they'd have seen her.

Unless someone had knocked that silly hat from her head. The thought of Ariel at the mercy of one of Dearborn's zombies made Erik's guts clench. How could he have been so careless? Marko has apparently followed his train of thought. The bigger man had pushed himself off the wall and was settling his shoulders, his hand clenching and unclenching around his sword hilt. When he spoke the good humor had completely left his face.

"Guess we'd better find out."

_He wasn't good enough._

That was far from news to Geoffrey Blackpool, but never had it hurt him more than it did now. Through the gray haze that clouded his vision Geoffrey watched as his sword went wide, missing the zombie that held Ariel and clattering harmlessly to the stone floor. Ariel let out a cry of disappointment, which quickly turned to a choked cry of pain as the thing jerked her off her feet and began to strangle her with one massive, rotting forearm. _Well's there's a big surprise_, Dirk's voice said snidely from its place within his head. _Once again my little brother fails to come through when he's needed most. _The room had gotten cold and now rocked from side to side disorientingly, making it hard for Geoffrey to stay on his feet. At least the pain seemed to be going away, he thought blurrily, even as the fog that filled his vision grew thicker. From far away he could hear the ringing of chimes. _Then again, anyone who needs _you_ to protect them isn't really worth saving, are they?_

"Don't say that," Geoffrey muttered thickly. "Ariel's worth more than—"

"Princess Ariel! I'll save you!" A voice came out of the fog, cutting off Geoffrey's muddled train of thought. That's good, he thought blearily. Someone really should save—

"Ariel?" She needed saving, Geoffrey remembered. And where was she, anyway? It was so hard to see through all this cursed fog. Geoffrey took a step forward, then blinked in dull surprise as something hit him from behind, sending him careening forward right into the lady he'd sworn to protect. "Ariel?" Geoffrey asked blurrily.

"Geoff—mmph!" The zombie had her, Geoffrey remembered. He had to rescue the princess. Geoffrey struggled to bring his hands up, but someone had tied weights to them, it seemed. He grunted with effort, breathing in the zombie's rank stench and just a hint of ariel's sweet perfume.

"Get away from her!" It sounded like a boy, but the hands that pulled at Geoffrey pulled with a man's strength. Enough strength to pull him away from his princess and send him careening across the infirmary to crash painfully into a table. Geoffrey landed on the stone floor amid a rubble of wood and shattered pottery, blinking up at the ceiling and trying to pull his tattered thoughts back together. _What thoughts_, Dirk sneered.

"Shut up," he told the voice, his own voice sounding weak and far away. Where was Ariel? Geoffrey tried to get up, to go to her, but nothing seemed to be working right. Now even the fog had weight, and after a moment's struggle he lay back, knowing that Dirk was right. Ariel was going to die, and it was all his fault. He just wasn't good enough.

_He had done it!_ A spear of pure triumph shot through Darrell as Prince Blackpool crashed to the ground, safely away from the Princess Baaldorf. For a moment Darrell thought that the evil prince might come at the princess again, but after a moment the man lay back in the rubble where he fell and was still. He looked dead, Darrell thought with satisfaction, pale and coated with blood too fresh and red to be anything but his own. Darrell imagined beginning able to report to Sir Hugh that one of their greatest enemies was among those killed tonight. It might make up, in some small way, for all of their own terrible losses. Maybe Sir Hugh would even smile and pat his shoulder when Darrell returned with not just the bandages he'd been sent for, but a rescued Princess Baaldorf and good news besides.

"Ack!" A not very lady-like sound brought Darrell back from his pleasant daydream. Princess Ariel stood before him, her face an interesting shade of bright red, her eyes as bugged-out as any clown's. She made the funny _acking_ sound again, and Darrell saw with a start that she wasn't exactly standing. Or breathing, for that matter. Ariel's slippered feet beat helplessly against the shins of a massive zombie whose leering face suggested that it was enjoying choking the life from his king's only daughter.

"Princess Ariel!" Darrell leapt forward, his eyes only for the tortured face of his princess.

And was met by her delicate, slipped feet, which didn't feet at all delicate as they slammed into his right temple. Darrell had time to realize that the thing had swung at him with the only thing it had to hand—Princess Ariel. He shook his head, trying to clear it. He only needed a moment, and then he would—

The moment never came. With a guttural roar the zombie slammed Princess Ariel's legs against Darrell's left temple, sending the squire careening toward the floor and unconsciousness. He never felt the impact, nor saw his beloved Princess' face as it, like a summer sunset, began turning from bright red to a deep and dusky purple.

_The world was a storm_.

Energy whirled around Tessa in gusts and eddies of color so bright that they hurt her mind to look at it. That same energy thrummed through her body like a plucked lute string, leaving vibrations that were a sweet song of power in its wake. A small stain appeared in her world of color, and without conscious thought she sent out a small tendril of energy in its direction. The stain that her rational mind knew to be a zombie exploded into nothingness and she laughed delightedly. The world hummed contentedly around her, the balance restored.

_The world was a storm_. A storm of power, with her at its center. Though it was getting harder and harder to think at all, Tessa knew that she was seeing the power of the earth itself. The power that turned a seedling into a towering tree, the power that could send showers of molten rock high into the sky. The power that sent wind and lightning to scour the ground clean. All of it was hers. Hers to do with as she wished.

_I never wanted this_, she protested faintly, even as another zombie exploded in a shower of sparks and a part of her shrieked in delight. _I just wanted to be_ safe. _To be_ free. _To sing, to play music, to fall in love—_

Justin. He'd been a part of that life, that dream. She'd been wrong about him, Tessa thought sorrowfully. He had come for her at the end, back when she was still mortal enough to need it. How brave he had been, standing in front of the animal Deerborne with nothing but a steel sword in his hand. The warlock should have destroyed him easily, but somehow Justin had prevailed, hurting Deerborne badly and providing the distraction she had so desperately needed. Fear and pain had opened doors inside her head she hadn't even known were there, but Deerborne's spell had trapped her inside herself, those doors only partially opened. Justin had caused the warlock's iron control to lift just enough.

Was Justin still there? Tessa was vaguely aware that her physical body stood in a courtyard, soaked to the skin by the pounding, punishing rain. She tried to reach for him, to feel his welcome presence, only to pull back as power crackled warningly across her hand. Yes. He was there. A part of her awareness that touched every life, great and small, told her that. But to touch him now would mean his death. The thought of that made her stomach clench, and brought Tessa back toward the world she had left behind.

_No. Not that. Never_. With a pang of longing she wished he could hold her, just once more. But that part of her life was behind her now. With only a glimmer of regret she turned her attention back to the storm, and the enemies in it.

_I'm sorry, Tessa_.

She was never sure if the words were spoken aloud, or only in her mind. Could spoken words _taste _of regret? Her slow and confused thoughts were still pondering that when cold steel sliced through the power flowing over her skin and bit into her flesh.

Power slapped out of her without thought and without warning. It lifted her attacker into the air, where he jerked like a drunken marionette, before tossing him out into the courtyard. His limp body hit the cobblestones with an indescribable thud and rolled perhaps a dozen paces before coming to rest.

"Justin?" Her voice was small and still in the sudden silence. The storm itself seemed to be holding its breath. "Justin?" Rain dripped slowly from rooftops, and she could hear the distant sounds of men in battle. But no easy laugh came from the still form, nor even a low moan of pain. Tessa fumbled out with her newfound awareness. Death was all around her, like a cloak she couldn't shake. She grieved again for Martha, and Gregory, and Talmor. All dead. All because of her. But not Justin, she told herself. Not him. Even the raindrops seemed to freeze as she reached out and touched him.

No breath. No life's pulse. He was dead.

She had killed him.

End of Part 11

Author's note: I know, I know. I said the end was in sight sometime last year, didn't I? Well, here we are, at last. Expect another couple of chapters, but hopefully we'll be at the end of this journey within the next week or two. Thanks to everyone who has stuck by me this long.


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